


From A to Z

by EverydayAcolyte



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Both Tabris and Zevran are the protagonists, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Epic, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, POV Multiple, Prostitution, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2020-10-11 00:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20537099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverydayAcolyte/pseuds/EverydayAcolyte
Summary: Ferelden is a land of cold earth and warm hearths, of warm blood and cold hearts. When the Blight comes, no one is prepared. Not the king, not the soldiers, not even the great Grey Wardens of legend.This leaves the role of hero to be appointed to an unwilling band of misfits, all brought together by fortuitous circumstance. With it grows a relationship between two improbable allies: A whore, daughter of an assassin, and an assassin, son of a whore.Maker help them.





	1. Diamond of the Pearl

What Asper hated most was the teeth.

She would never claim to be a squeamish person, not by the most flexible definition, but she couldn’t stand being able to feel the teeth. The give of the skin was fine. The pop of the bones was passable. The shock of contact was not only something she could handle, but could be downright satisfying. No, it was the feeling of her knuckles pressed against the teeth of her mark, sharp and so unbearably thin, that she couldn’t manage. There was something intimately wrong about being able to feel those brittle bones through the flesh of a person’s cheek. It was more solid than cartilage, but far less rigid than, say, the ribs or the femur. She hated it.

She supposed that this was one of the many reasons she was so insistent on knocking them out.

Asper pulled her arm back, her sleeve already cuffed and folded around her bicep. Then she sprang forward, releasing her fist onto the surprised expression of a middle-aged man. There was the give, then the pop, then the shock, which ran up her arm and across her shoulders. Finally, she could feel the shape of his teeth, indenting into her index finger. With morbid gratification, she smiled as she felt one of his canines get knocked loose. The man warbled backward, both from her strike as well as from an excessive amount of liquor, judging by his stank. He haphazardly crashed into a couple wooden barrels that leaned against the wall. His weight broke cleanly through one, sending splinters flying and a mixture of glass and liquid sprawling out beneath him. Stamina tonics. Asper cursed inwardly. The combined value of the items in the barrel cost more than two of her paychecks put together. Still, this particular situation couldn’t be blamed on her. For once, she had acted in the right. It was unfortunate that the man had to have collapsed on that specific barrel, but it couldn’t be helped. Once they figured out his identity, they could fine it to his estate. He didn’t look grizzled or thin enough to be homeless.

Asper tugged a woman, Dina, away from the fallen man. It had been the end of Asper’s shift, but she was glad that she hadn’t left yet. If she had departed half an hour prior, like she had originally planned, then she would have missed Dina’s cry for help. 

Asper had come out of her room to find Dina cornered at the end of the hallway, whimpering and scratching at her assailant. She was behind him in an instant, catching the man’s wrist before he could inflict another blow. Or, at least, another attempt at a blow. Based on his bruised hand and the indents in the oak table that stood behind Dina, he had thankfully missed. Asper had asked her if he was a client, to which she answered with a resounding no. That was all that she needed to turn him around and acquaint him with her fist. The last thing he saw was a flash of ginger hair and cold eyes.

It was an easy fall. The man was already halfway to the floor due to his overwhelming inebriation, so the blow was like the last whiff of air on a very unstable, very unsober stack of cards. If she was being honest with herself, she was disappointed. She was glad that none of the employees were hurt, but she couldn’t help but regret that it had ended so quickly. She was rarely given the chance to lawfully mow someone down. The bloodthirsty part of her, hidden deep within her flaring temper, had hoped for a better fight. Still, she probably wouldn’t be fantasizing if he had actually decided to hit back. With those kind of shem hands, her head would have been easily bashed in.

“Are you alright?” she asked, turning towards Dina and away from the knocked-out man.

“Yes, yes, thank you!” Dina exclaimed, wringing her hands in front of her. She was a frail little thing, but one wouldn’t realize it, standing next to someone like Asper.

“What happened?”

“I…” A look of guilt flashed across Dina’s face. “...I had just finished with a client, and… he had snuck in without me knowing.”

Asper turned to the man, then back to her, pointing. “Him?” she questioned. “He looked too drunk to think, much less sneak up on someone in their own room. What had you so preoccupied? Why wasn’t the door locked? You’re aware how strict we are on our privacy policy.”

She knew that she should be showing more compassion, but it was the end of a long night, one of her last nights, and she was ready to leave. Her father would become more and more suspicious with every passing minute.

Dina shook her head. “No, he snuck into the building, not my room. I was so busy, I hadn’t recognized him. Otherwise, I would have called you or Sanga right away.”

Asper’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you have recognized him? How exactly do you know this-” 

She caught herself. 

“-man?” She finished, nearly allowing the word ‘shem’ to slip from her lips. As Dina herself was human, she probably wouldn’t have appreciated the slur.

“He…” For a second, Dina faltered, knowing that she would be scolded for what came next. “He’s been waiting for me after my shifts. He hides in the alleyway next door. Sometimes he’s alone, sometimes he’s not.” 

At this statement, Asper visibly stiffened.

“He’s usually drunk. He asks me to come with him. He tells me that he doesn’t have any money on him, but that he could offer me other things. That he has riches at home. I thought, perhaps, if he brought proof...”

“Dina.” Asper felt her fingers curl back into a fist. There was a certain protectiveness that washed over her, already feeling the first few prickles of indignation.

“I promise that it’s only been happening this last week!” she sputtered, once again wringing out her hands. Clearly, she had heard the stories of what Asper did to the others that had hurt her coworkers. “You don’t have to do anything else to him! He’s just... a stupid drunk. Before tonight, he was harmless. I promise. I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

Before she could stop herself, Asper found herself was walking towards Dina, stopping only until they were standing approximately nose to nose. A mixture of intimidation and disappointment rolled off of her in waves, and she stared the woman down until her coworker had the common sense to turn her eyes respectfully to the floor. While Asper was a good head and a half shorter, her lacking height didn’t stop Dina from cowering under her gaze.

“There is no such thing as a harmless drunk, Dina,” Asper warned, her voice low and serious. “Especially in our line of work. You should have reported to me or Sanga right away. You can’t hesitate to use us or the others for help. A lonely whore is a dead one,” she hissed. “Do you understand?”

Dina bit her lip, nodding slowly. Her eyes were large and watery, the precipice of a break down. Asper didn’t blame her. No matter how long you’ve worked in this business, the shock of fear always hit unexpectedly. 

“Yes. I understand,” she sniffed. “I just didn’t want to bother you. I know that you’re leaving us soon, and you don’t need even more to worry about. You have a wedding to plan.”

At that comment, Asper’s expression visibly softened. Her mouth was still a thin, grimacing line, but the stoniness in her eyes began to erode. She forgot how long the grapevine grew between the other workers; they weren’t supposed to know the reason for her resignation. 

“Thank you for thinking about me,” she said honestly, “but I do not need your concern. This might be my last week, but I’ve still been here. Even if Sanga was swallowed up by paperwork, or if I was dealing with a dozen problematic clients, you should never hide this sort of information. It’s our job to keep you undamaged…”

Dina’s eyes bulged, tears threatening to spill over. Abruptly, Asper’s brain was forced to take a mental step back. She simply looked at Dina, taking the sight of her in. The poor girl was terrified. She was shivering, and her hands were curled into tight balls. Her hair seeped out of her braid in thick strands, sticking to her face, and her skirt had become completely disheveled. It was more than pitiful. Any last remnants of stringency drained out of Asper, and she rested a hand atop Dina’s shoulder, steadying her.

“...But more importantly, we want to keep you safe. More than a duty or obligation. You’ve only been with us a month, but you are entitled to the same treatment and safety that all the others receive. I know that it’s a shitty, shitty job,” she declared, “But it doesn’t have to be a lethal one. You are never obligated to take clients that might put you in danger. Never.”

Finally, Dina brought her gaze back up to meet Asper’s, a tentative smile on her lips. Asper gave a scant smile back, but through her eyes, her sincerity was clear. She was genuinely glad that Dina was unharmed, and that the night had ended without any of the clients being compromised. There had been a fight and some expensive collateral, but nothing that they would have to be personally responsible for. Everyone was safe.

“I... Thank you. We have to look out for each other, right?” Dina nodded to herself. “That’s what you always say.”

Asper let out a short laugh. “Yes, yes. We have to look out for each other.” Her smile then turned bitter, like she suddenly bit into something rotten. For a moment, her tone became scathing and ironic.

“Maker knows that no one else is looking out for us sinners.”

\---

The Pearl was an awful place to work. It wasn’t a remarkable declaration; it was a brothel, after all. If anyone had ever claimed to particularly enjoy working at a brothel, Asper had never met her. Or him, she supposed, but that was a rarer sight. Most of the male escorts endeavored to entrepreneur their own trade. Asper herself had considered it, but such a venture would insinuate that she was in the business for good. It also lacked the safety precautions and anonymity that she needed, so alas, a personal enterprise in hustling would never find her. How very unfortunate.

Asper sat in front of a large, plain mirror, dipping a cloth into a wash basin beside her. Once she had called for a guard to remove the man and written a note about the ruined tonics, she was able to slip away into the dressing room, leaving the problem for whoever had to mail the letter in the morning. 

The room was filled with other similar mirrors, dressers, and basins, a disarray of personal belongings spread across each. At some of the bureaus laid an odd trinket or bauble, undoubtedly a personal gift from a loyal client. Asper hadn’t seen a gift come her way in months. When she had first started out, she did anything to garner a client’s allegiance. After all, a string of pearls could fatten her family for weeks. Now she knew better. As helpful as a tip or two was, it wasn’t worth the trouble. With gifts came passion, then infatuation, then commitment, and suddenly there was a man knocking pebbles against her window, declaring his selfless decision to save her from her horrible harlot life. Besides, lovesick clients became clingy all too easily. They always wanted personal information. They reasoned that because they had poured out their soul one night, sobbing into one of her many pillows, she was obligated to do the same. No, that wasn’t the game she played.

Now, if someone wanted a challenge? If they wanted a woman that would bite back? That was her signature. It always made her clients come crawling back for more. She wasn’t proud of the role she had taken within the Pearl, but she had to be grateful for its unintended job security. Not that she needed it anymore.

Asper scrubbed at her face, smearing off the heavy rouge and tigress eyes. It always took a harsh hand to get the last of it; sometimes she worried that she’d wash her freckles clean off. Still, it was better to be thorough than risk the chance of her family spotting the red stains around her lips. 

After her face was completely bare, Asper proceeded to procure a small chest, no bigger than an apple. Her work wasn’t finished until this ritual was complete. With the twist of a key, she unlocked the box, scooping its contents onto her dresser. Inside were nearly a dozen earrings, all of different sizes and shapes. Some of them were hoops. Some of them were studs. One was a teardrop that hung from a thin, fragile chain, the gemstone cloudy and unidentifiable. She laid them out in order, the motion practiced and particular. Then she began to clip them on, one by one, careful to keep the order constant. They ran up the sides of both of her long, elvhen ears, digging into the desensitized cartilage. With a final click, the last earring screwed into place. That was it. She was officially off the clock.

A knock came to the door, along with a familiar voice. Asper called her in.

Sanga opened the door, striding into the room. She was a modest looking woman, but Asper knew all too well the clever, brilliant brain that hid behind that pretty face. She managed the Pearl in every sense but the name. She carried a satchel in with her, brimming with her garb and make-ups.

“I was just leaving,” Asper informed, holding up her own packed bag.

“I can see that,” Sanga said. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. There was trouble at the tavern, and I got held up by a couple stolen bottles of wine. Soldiers think that they can get away with anything.”

Asper chuckled. “I know the feeling. We had a conflict with a man earlier. Had enough alcohol in him to put a druffalo to sleep. I found him harassing Dina, and it turns out that it’s been a repeated offense.”

Sanga looked up from her mirror, setting down her palette. “Repeated offense? Why didn’t she tell us? What did you do?”

“She said that she didn’t want to be a nuisance.” Sanga sucked in a quick, irate breath, and Asper gave her a knowing look. “I know. I’ve already discussed it with her. Anyway, I had to knock him out. Dina helped me check his pockets, and it turns out that he’s a veteran. I think the government finally cut him off, so he was trying to rifle around to get whatever he could.”

Sanga sighed. “Honestly. People think that they can treat us however they want, just because of what we are.”

“What, streetwalkers?”

“No,” Sanga replied. “Women.”

Asper snorted. Sanga laughed dryly, a little too much for such a mild joke, but careful to keep her teeth away from her freshly painted lips. 

“Do you have everything handled?” Asper rose from her seat, slinging her bag’s band over her shoulder. “I need to be getting home. You know how my father worries.”

“Of course.” Sanga responded. Then she stood up, grinning widely. “But before you go, there’s something I have to give you.”

Asper stopped. She felt a pit develop in the depths of her stomach. 

“Sanga…”

“Ah, ah,” she interrupted. “I won’t be seeing you on your last night, so I want to give it to you now. Think of it as a wedding present. If it makes you feel any better, it’s technically from all of us.” Her grin grew even wider. “Although it was definitely my idea.”

With that, Sanga brought out a wooden box from her satchel, presenting it to Asper. The container was a suspicious size, too similar to the one that carried her earrings. The dread in her insides continued to grow. Asper dutifully held out her hands, mentally willing the present to be something, anything, else.

She carefully took the box, and after looking for an indication from Sanga, opened it. 

Oh.

It was a comb. Wooden and ornate, it was carved and embellished with curling vines. On its handle was a handwritten tag, informing her that it was made from genuine Dalish ironbark. The comb looked excessively expensive, like something a noble would buy for his budding daughter. Asper picked it up gently, staring at the meticulous chiseling. She would never buy herself something so lavish. Turning it in her hands, she felt emotion rise in her throat. She hadn’t expected anything like this. Being given gifts always left Asper with an acrid taste in her mouth, and she ought to be insulted that the gift was themed specifically to her elvhen blood, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. After all, for her coworkers to collaborate and pool their resources together… it was too tender a thought to ignore.

“Thank you.”

Sanga only smiled. “Of course. We’ll miss you, you know.” She then drew Asper into a brief embrace. 

She winced, but allowed it."I'll... miss you too," she mumbled into the woman's shoulder. 

“Still, I thank the Maker that you’re finally getting out of here.”

Asper withdrew from her arms, nodding.

There was a thick pause.

Then she took a step back. “Well,” she declared, “It is time for me to go.”

“Of course.” Sanga agreed, shooing her with the hand that wasn’t holding up her eyelashes, as to not let her mascara run. “Get home safe, and tell Shianna goodnight for me.”

“I always do.” 

Then, just as Asper opened the door, she halted. She turned to her coworker, a woman she had worked with for years. This might be the last time she would see her, at least on friendly terms. If she ever saw her on the streets, they would have to act as strangers. After all, she was going to be a proper wife.

“Oh, and Sanga?” 

“Yes?” She looked up at Asper hopefully.

“The vet completely wrecked our shipment of stamina tonics.”

With that, Asper fled, long before she could be caught in the onslaught of curses. Her feet carried her outside, down the rickety flight of stairs. They carried her past the back alleys and abandoned shacks, past the candlelit windows of sleepless shops, past the gate that stood between the alienage and the rest of the city, until they carried her all the way home.

One more night, and she’d be free.


	2. The Murder of Jacopo Mont

What Zevran hated most was the teeth.

He had seen enough poor mouth hygiene in his time, but this current case made all of his other experiences pale in comparison. The teeth were not only crooked and bent, no, that he could deal with. They were also filthy, with half of tonight’s feast seemingly filed away into the crevices. The ends were grossly chipped, as if the owner had been gnawing on stones since he was a young boy, and the gums were black and inflamed. One long tooth jutted out from the bottom, imitating a boar’s tusk. Yet it wasn’t even these qualities that repelled Zevran so intensely; after all, most people in Antiva couldn’t afford dental work. It would be rude to judge the attractiveness of a person solely on their teeth.

Yet the licking. Maker, why did he have to do the licking?

Zevran watched the man in question, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. He was a portly fellow, and he did nothing to hide that fact. His clothes were of the latest fashion, with large sleeves and a tight waistline, all of which only made his stomach appear even more disproportionate. Despite his outfit being unbecoming, Zevran knew exactly why he was doing it. He was desperately clinging to his earlier years, thinking that hiding himself in the current style would make him more acceptable to the turbulent youth. He wanted to fit in, but more importantly, he wanted to seem appetizable. The man had a reputation for liking them young and vulnerable. After all, that was why Zevran was here.

The viscount laughed. There it was; his tongue wagging to lick the tips of his abhorred front teeth. Zevran inwardly shuddered. The man’s sight then flickered his way, making eye contact. They had been subtly meeting eyes all night, what with Zevran constantly positioning himself into his field of vision.

“You seem awfully infatuated.”

The comment came from behind him, but Zevran didn’t startle. He knew that voice almost as well as he knew his own.

“Taliesen,” Zevran breathed, barely a whisper. The viscount had stopped looking. “Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling?”

There was a quiet laugh, low and masculine. “I’ll go back in a second. I just wanted to check in.” Taliesen, adorned in a full plate of elaborate copper armor, moved to take the place beside him. Despite being tall for an elf, Zevran looked slight against Taliesen's massive metal frame. “And what do I come to find? Zev absolutely mooning over his target! If I didn’t know any better, I’d be worried.”

“Mooning? Is that what it looked like?” Zevran smiled sardonically. “I’m glad. I was so worried that all of the guests would be able to see the absolutely murderous intent in my eyes.”

Taliesen shook his head, but there was a smile playing on his lips. He scratched at his dark beard, gazing out into the crowd of aristocrats. Some of them sat in long rows, apportioned between half a dozen lengthy tables. Others flitted about, drinking and chatting about the recent scandals. The decor was completely excessive. The marble floor was polished to a blinding shine, and there wasn’t an inch of wall left uncovered or uncarved. Hanging above them, there was one—two—three—four chandeliers. It was both beautiful and absolutely ridiculous.

Zevran took the sight in. They hadn’t had a proper public contract in months. Usually, nobles would be fine with offing their political enemies on the sly. It was easier that way, aided by the dark of the night and the false sense of security from a locked bedroom window. This one, however, was different. Their client was specific: He had to die tonight, and they had to make it humiliating.

To make a public debacle out of an assassination was an awfully _Orlesian_ way of doing things, Zevran thought, but he wouldn’t question it. The client was always right.

Zevran hefted his tray higher onto his arm, careful to make sure the goblets on top didn’t spill. He snagged the one closest to his left hand and held it out to Taliesen.

“Here. It is suspicious for high-ranking guards to gossip with the servants.”

Taliesen accepted the glass. He immediately downed half of it. Oh, that damned… 

Although he kept his expression neutral, Zevran was fuming. The wine he was serving was ludicrously expensive. More than that, it was a national delicacy. Aged no less than fifty years and made with the palace’s own vineyards… To treat it like a common beer was beyond sacrilegious.

“Stop that,” he hissed. “You are supposed to savor it!”

Taliesen responded by gulping down the rest of the contents in his glass. Zevran took an unsteady breath.

“Next time,” he proclaimed, “I get to be the officer and you get to be the servant.”

“And miss out on free booze? Never.”

It was frustrating that it was Taliesen, out of all of them, who got to partake in the banquet. What Zevran wouldn’t do to get his hands on a bottle of anything being served tonight. He was tempted to sneak a glass for himself, but if he was caught, he would wreck the entire operation. Ah, to be a Crow was such a burdensome thing.

Then an idea came to him.

“Honestly, I should not be surprised,” Zevran chided, “that a Tevinter boy would be completely ignorant to proper Antivan liquor. I suppose it is just in your blood. How sad.”

Taliesen’s eyebrows furrowed, and he set the goblet none too gently on the tray. Perfect. There was no better way to settle things than a friendly banter.

“My blood?” Taliesen accused. “What about your blood? At least my mother wasn’t a—”

Suddenly, a woman stepped between them, cutting him short. She wore the same clothing as Zevran, but with a trailing skirt instead of slacks. Her dark hair was curled and loose, a disparity to her usual tight braid, but her identity was unmistakable. Rinna. The third to their deadly little trio.

“Stop it, both of you,” she snapped. She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Maker. We’re in the middle of a contract, and you two are bickering like an elderly couple.” 

Taliesen jerked his head in Zevran’s direction. “Only because he got personal.”

Zevran glowered at him. “And only because he was flaunting his alcohol privileges.”

Rinna sighed, her expression hard. “It doesn’t matter. It is time. We’re closing in on the deal.”

Zevran and Taliesen physically straightened, all joviality and jiving immediately extinguished. They could have their fun, but in the end, they were still strict professionals. They were considered one of the best units in the house of Arainai, after all.

“Taliesen, we’ll take our positions. Zevran, here,” Rinna said, taking his tray of drinks and replacing it with a pitcher of gold-colored liquid. “This is his favorite. Remember his name — Jacopo Mont.” Zevran nodded. He had been doing this for years. Being well-informed about the target was half the battle.

“You know the fallbacks?” Taliesen asked, lifting his helmet back to his head.

“I do,” Zevran affirmed, “but I won’t need them. It is me we are talking about, after all.” He grinned. “Alright. I shall see you two in the bedroom, yes?”

Getting back into character, Zevran bowed deeply to Taliesen before departing. He carefully cut a path through the cluster of nobles, offering a refill from his pitcher to everyone along the way. Finally, he made it past the thick of the crowd. He walked towards the end of the table where Jacopo sat.

There were already multiple servants fluttering about him, piling more food on his plate and more drink in his cup. Zevran watched their movements closely. One maid in particular drew his attention. She was cheerful and rambunctious, offering to fetch Jacopo more bread and laughing at all of his jokes. She was his personal servant, no doubt. He must have brought her with him to the party. Many nobles made a habit of doing so, as it warded off potential poisonings. She was trusted. If she were to make a mistake, she would probably be fine, if not harshly scolded.

Zevran squeezed himself into the congregation of servants. He positioned himself directly behind the shoulder of the maid and held his pitcher out. 

“Signore Mont! Please, try a little bit of-”

Just as he planned, the maid was startled by his sudden location behind her. She brusquely bent back up, knocking into Zevran’s arm and showering the contents of his pitcher.

Most of it splashed across his own shirt, but a few spatters made their way onto the viscount. Each member of the help gasped, Zevran’s being the loudest.

“Oh, ser!” he exclaimed. “I am so very sorry. Please forgive me, I should have been more careful!” He did his best to look terrified, as if he knew the host would have his head for such a blunder.

The maid noticed his fearful expression. “No, ser, please,” she said. “It was my fault. I’ve been too flighty all night. I’ve just been so excited for this party. I should have had more of my wits about me.” She took ahold of Zevran by the shoulders, and his lip trembled pitifully. “Please do not blame him.”

At first, there was only shock on Jacopo’s face. While it wasn’t a loud incident, the spectacle still captured the attention of surrounding guests. They were all quiet as they waited for his reaction, all secretly hoping that there would be a scene.

With a lurch, the viscount began to laugh uproariously, holding his hand to his gut. “Ah, no harm done! Luckily for him, this liquor doesn’t stain!”

The reaction was not what he had expected. With Jacopo’s laughter, the rest of the nobles turned away, engrossed by more outrageous conversation. He was surprisingly more good-natured than Zevran had predicted. That would make this a lot easier.

“Here,” Zevran offered. “At least allow me clean you up, ser. It is the very least that I can do.” He rushed to grab a nearby handkerchief and began to dab at the wet spots.

“Very well,” Jacopo replied, spreading his arms so that Zevran could better reach his lapel. He then turned his head towards the other servants. “You. Bring some mops and clean this up!”

With a majority of them scurrying away and the maid excusing herself to fetch her master a new jacket from the coat closet, Zevran was left relatively alone with the viscount. He continued to dab at the spots, allowing Jacopo to quietly continue his meal. He was disturbed to be this close to the man’s mouth (his breath was as bad as he thought it would be), but he made sure to appear as if there wasn’t anything else in the world he’d rather be doing.

“Again, ser, I apologize,” he started. “Someone told me that you enjoyed my drink, so I had wanted to offer it to you as soon as possible.”

Jacopo stilled, clinking his fork onto his plate. He could see his words processing in his mind. “Someone told you that?” There was suspicion in his voice. “And why in the world was I the topic of discussion?”

Zevran gulped, acting as if he had been caught in a scheme. “I… I am sorry, ser. I did not mean to insinuate that I was gossiping. I simply wanted to know a way to please you.”

Jacopo audibly exhaled, taking another bite. “Ahh,” he sighed. Dio santo. Why did he have to do it while chewing? “So that’s it. I understand. You wanted to please me, an honored guest, so that you might gain a promotion.” He winked. “Do not worry, I understand.”

“No, ser. You do not.” 

Jacopo stared at him, unsure of his interjection. It was career suicide for a servant to actively talk back to their superiors.

“Ser, I promise that money is not the incentive. The fact that I am disagreeing with you right now should be proof enough. I am simply…” He paused, looking for the word. “_...Awed_ by you.” Zevran made sure to drop his volume as well as his tone, letting the sentence hang in the air. He knew that the viscount was rumored to take a liking to his servants. It was a power play for Jacopo, and the reason Zevran had chosen his disguise so carefully. He would not be the first elvhen boy that the man had taken to his bed, although he would be the last.

“Ah.” Jacopo shifted in his seat, only realizing now how close Zevran was. His expression shifted from perturbed inquisitiveness to something much more beguiling. “Awed, you say? How so?”

“How would I not be?” Zevran asked, flabbergasted. “You are a powerful leader and command the entire table’s attention. You wear the most modern fashions when none of the others have the bravery to do so, as they know that they cannot pull it off as well as you do. You have been telling the most intriguing stories. I will admit that I tried to listen in more than once.” He smiled sheepishly, embarrassed by his ramblings.

“I thought so!” The viscount set his hand on the table, gazing up at Zevran. “You’ve been hovering around this table all night. I thought it was my imagination, but now you’ve confirmed it. Tell me, boy, have you been watching me?”

Zevran could see the idea form in Jacopo’s mind. The man leaned back, drinking the sight of the lithe elf in. While the servant's outfit didn't do Zevran justice, he was still looking as fine as he always did. He had been sure to press his clothes carefully, as to angle around his fine-cut figure, and wore his long, blonde hair in a loose ponytail. The front of his shirt now clung to his chest, the spilled liquor making the cheap material nearly translucent. Jacopo was deciding whether or not he was to his taste. Based on his widening smile, he would say that he definitely was. Zevran was glad that he had opted for the tighter pair of pants.

“Well, ser,” answered Zevran, eyes half-lidded. “If I said that I was, would I be thrown into the stockade? Chained to the walls? Handcuffed to bars until dawn?” He knew his target’s tastes, and he would absolutely use them against him.

Jacopo swallowed loudly, clearly enthralled by the idea. “Of… of course not. I will admit that I may have been, perhaps, watching you myself.” He leaned closer to Zevran, slipping his hand over the wrist that held the handkerchief. “You’re much more enticing to look at than any of these dreadful paintings on the walls.”

“Ser…” Zevran turned away. He then shook his head, as if paranoid that someone would overhear their scandalizing conversation. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be such a distraction. Perhaps there is... some way I could make it up to you. You need your shirt changed, do you not?” He let his accent envelop his words, making them come out in a purr.

“That I do, boy. That I do.”

Standing from his chair, Jacopo began to walk out of the ballroom, beckoning Zevran along with a finger. The elf trailed behind him, snagging a couple bottles of wine for later. He followed his target through a labyrinth of hallways, attempting to memorize the way out, just in case. Two of his shirt buttons were undone as they walked, exposing his absolutely exquisite collarbones.

Once they reached the viscount's guest room, Zevran stealthily propped his wine bottles outside of the door. He entered after the noble, and Jacopo immediately began to tear the clothes off of him. Zevran laid onto the bed, holding his wrists up to the bedposts and looking pointedly at the rope that laid in the corner. It had been clearly used on another recent fling. Zevran was thankful for its presence, as otherwise he would have had to explain why they should use his own scarves. Soon he was tied down to the posts. With a hidden twist of the wrists, he ensured that he'd be able to slip out in case of emergency. Then he waited for the inevitable. Jacopo climbed onto the bed, lumbering over him. 

The man drew closer, mouth agape, and Zevran felt his insides squirm. Maker, Rinna and Taliesen better be in position. He had a dagger shoved under the pillow if they weren’t, but he very much didn’t want to have to go through with this. He had many lovers, but this was not one he would be proud to claim.

Jacopo neared to kiss him. Closer… he needed to be just a little closer…

Then, just so the universe could spite him, Jacopo licked his teeth, right in front of Zevran’s face. 

That was it. He couldn’t take it anymore. His beautiful body didn’t deserve to be treated this way.

Zevran suddenly flicked out a long, thick needle he had been hiding under his tongue. Holding it between his teeth, he jerked forward, skewering the point through Jacopo’s mouth. The sudden attack made Jacopo fall backwards, stumbling off of the edge of the bed. It wasn’t until the viscount looked down and saw the needle sticking out of his tongue that he began to scream. It wasn't subtle, but it was a clear signal to the others.

Zevran didn’t like this. He did not actually expect to use the needle. He had only hidden it as a precaution. He didn’t like unnecessarily violent or noisy disposals, as it gave too much room for error. 

...Still, it was better than having to go through with the alternative.

Before Jacopo could get any louder, the bedroom door burst open. It swung on its hinges easily, no splinters or breaking metal, not like it would be if it was kicked in. Rinna must have been able to pick the lock. 

Taliesen rushed into the room, sword unsheathed, and Zevran felt a surge of relief. He would have been able to handle himself if he had too, but it would have been a rough encounter. Especially considering that he was currently stark naked, tied to a bedpost.

Taliesen launched himself at Jacopo, who was clad in nothing but his underwear. Grabbing his shoulders, he shoved the viscount out of the bedroom. Zevran couldn’t see what they were doing after that, but he knew what to expect. There were stairs directly outside of the room, with nothing to stop someone from falling over the edge but a railing. At the bottom floor, near the side of the staircase, stood a full suit of armor. Zevran had checked while he was being led along by Jacopo, and it was exactly where their intel had told them it would be. In its gauntlets it held a long, steel spear, sharpened to a deadly point. This was their weapon of choice. They wouldn’t even have to swing it themselves; they’d let gravity do the work for them.

Zevran leaned up on the bed, attempting to listen to the actions taking place. Taliesen had muffled the viscount’s cries and was pushing him backwards onto the stairs. He heard a bottle clink down the steps, and then a blood curdling scream.

It was done. Jacopo Mont was dead.

Taliesen was silent for a minute, giving time for Rinna to extract the implicating needle from their skewered victim’s mouth. He then began to shout for the other guards, insisting that there was an emergency. Zevran wriggled back onto the pillows and did his best to look like a terrified lover while he waited to be found.

The rest of the guards came, along with a gaggle of curious bystanders. There were gasps and wails of terror when they saw the gruesome noble-kebab, but it was nothing compared to the reaction of when they found Zevran. There were a few guards that saw all too much, but he had no shame.

His alibi was perfect. He was but a lowly servant, the secret elvhen lover of the late viscount. They had snuck away from the party, extremely drunk, and he had been tied to the bed, per Jacopo’s usual tastes. Being bound made it less likely for Zevran to be suspected of foul play. If he hadn't been able to persuade Jacopo to bind him, he would have just slipped out of the bedroom window and hidden on the roof until it was safe. 

The story continued. Upon forgetting something he had left in the ballroom, Jacopo had stepped out, leaving Zevran to await his master. Being terrifically plastered, the viscount hadn’t noticed one of the many bottles that were strewn across the floor, and he tripped headfirst over the railing and onto the suit of armor below. With the cracked bottle at the bottom of the steps, the scenario made logical sense. It looked like an accident. They had done a good job. 

Having an elvhen servant boy for a partner, becoming publicly drunk at a formal event, and tripping to his grisly death wearing only his smalls? The client had asked for a humiliating death, and that’s exactly what they were given.

Taliesen proceeded to untie Zevran, using the excuse that he would be taken into questioning. As an officer, he ordered the other guards to spread out and calm the guests, as to not completely ruin the host’s party. Their audience slowly dispersed until the scene was left empty.

Taliesen looked around one last time, making sure they were all alone. Then he grinned.

“My,” he leered, “you certainly got far with the viscount. I know that you were supposed to get tied down, but I didn’t expect to find you naked as the day you were born.”

Zevran returned the grin. “Ah, my friend, you cannot act like you do not love it.”

Wisping stealthily through the door, Rinna joined them. From her satchel she withdrew a bundle of clothes, which she tossed onto the bed. Zevran accepted them graciously and began to get dressed.

“Well done,” Rinna congratulated. “This went far more smoothly than I thought it would. I was sure that I would have to bring out the tranquilizer.”

“You underestimate my talents,” said Zevran laughed.

“Perhaps. Or maybe you just got lucky this time.” 

Before he could be offended, Taliesen clapped his hand across his back. “Come now, we should be leaving, lest they find us all chatting here. The city force will be on its way to investigate the corpse.”

With a nod, Zevran finished buttoning his shirt and followed Taliesen out the door. 

He thought that Rinna was right behind him, but when he glanced back, she was still in the room. She stood above the nightstand, staring thoughtfully at something. With such a heavy weight on her brow, she looked as if she was making a crucial decision.

“Rinna?” Zevran called back. “Are you coming?”

She looked up, startled, and quickly grabbed what was on the nightstand. His eyes almost missed it, but he was sure of what he saw: a red leatherbound book. She tossed it into her satchel and hastily took her place behind him. Zevran made no comment.

With that, the trio weaved their way through the many halls, using a backdoor for their escape. Their departure was undetected, and they were on the carriage to Antiva City within the hour. 

It was just becoming spring. He could smell it in the air, apple blossoms and fresh grass. After a long, monotone winter of training and contracts, Antiva was taking on color. The fields of grapevines were finding their green again. The cranes had come back to hunt in the lilac-tinted waters. Exhausted and wanting nothing more than to be asleep in his own bed, Zevran struggled to keep his eyes open. He nearly dozed off while leaning against Rinna and Taliesen’s shoulders during the ride back.

As enthralling as a contract could be, he was just glad to be going home.


	3. Sugar and Salves

Asper pulled her arm along the cloth, letting the shears cut through the fabric like warm butter. She was preparing bandages. There were many tasks for her to do in the quaint little medicine shop, but this was the one she was currently stuck with. She had hoped to be mixing today, but after smashing her thumb one too many times with the pestle, Dilwyn had taken the tool away. She would usually berate herself for showing any ineptness at her day job (or her sideline, for that matter), but on this particular day, she welcomed the reprieve. Unlike crushing, blending, or fetching ingredients, cutting bandages was a fairly mindless task. As long as she followed the list of lengths that Dilwyn was looking for, she could allow her mind to wander as it wished.

In a week, her fiance would be coming.

With her father promising his family a hefty dowry, the two alienages had decided that Denerim needed the new blood more. Her husband-to-be would live with her family, at least until they could rent a house with the money received from their wedding. The well-being of a new couple was entirely dependent on the generosity of their guests. While Asper had batted horns with a number of the alienage’s residents over the years, she knew that, in the end, they would give her their blessings. In a city where every shem looked at you like you were tar staining their new fur boots, the alienage couldn’t survive if it were to turn amongst itself. Mother Boann insisted that good Andrastians should see past race and creed, but she was just a human, and they had no such privilege. It didn’t mean that they wouldn’t lie to each other, or cheat, or leave weasels in their cousin’s bed. It simply meant that they shared a kinship. In a world of oppressive ‘theys’, they could use every addition to ‘we’ that they could get.

This was the kind of world that Asper was raised in. The welfare of her family, and by extension her people, came above all else. She had known since puberty (or, as her father horrendously described it, “flowering”) that she would probably be expected to marry a stranger. Arranged weddings were extraordinarily common. It wasn’t that they were particular enforced; if two loving adults came to the elder and asked for their union to be approved, he would undoubtedly give it. Yet for many of the elves living in the alienage, commitment wasn’t something that came easily. They were all so busy taking care of each other, housing great-uncles and half-cousins and friends-of-friends due to an unexpected raise in rent or death in the family, that many of them had no time to pursue relationships. It did not mean that they did not have their fun and their flings—Asper knew that phase all too intimately. It simply meant that time was a valuable resource, and most of them were not privy to giving it up to date a dozen people before settling on one. 

It was also biologically sensible. Marrying someone out of town brought new blood into the system. Nobles already gossiped about elves breeding like incestous rabbits. They didn’t have to play into the slander by lacking new faces.

Asper could see all of the benefits of her marriage as clearly as the shears in her hands. 

And yet. 

And yet…

There was an uneasy feeling that permeated throughout her body. Her stomach felt like it had risen half a foot, like it was somehow pressing against her heart and lungs. Everything prickled. Her hair when she brushed through it this morning. Her throat when she spoke. Her skin when her sleeve grazed against her arm. It felt not unlike when she was cornered by an opponent, or when her father asked her to have a private conversation with him. She felt trapped.

She knew that she would have to go through with it, of course. She would never let her father and little cousins down like that. They needed the husband’s extra revenue, and once Soris finally finished his apprenticeship, they would be able to afford more. She could finally buy that dress that Shianni always gaped at through the shop window. She could finally buy Soris that embroidery kit that he was always too embarrassed to ask for. 

Their lives would become so much better. She just had to marry someone. During some shifts, she slept with a dozen men in a night. Wouldn’t only having to please one be so much easier? She knew that she had to-

“What’s on your mind?”

Asper’s head whipped in the direction of the sound. Dilwyn, a graying elvhen woman, stood in the doorway. She smiled at Asper.

“I figured that your wandering thoughts wouldn’t be able to handle the mortar and pestle today, but it appears that you’re in a more productive mood than I originally believed.” She gestured to the basket of bandages that Asper had already sheared. To her dismay, Asper realized that she had cut an unreasonable excess. She had been so absorbed in her own mind that her hands had continued by themselves. While crushing things was slightly less natural for her, it seemed that slicing things was practically instinctual.

“My apologies.” Asper bowed her head towards her supervisor. “I did not mean to waste materials. I can pay for anything that has to be thrown out.”

Dilwyn shook her head. “Dear, the last I checked, bandages don’t go bad. I suppose you’ve just done me a favor.” She chuckled faintly. “This means that I won’t have to cut any next week. I’m sure that these old hands will thank you.”

Asper slumped, agitated by the woman’s easy forgiveness. “Still, I did not follow the proper directions. I do not mean to have my mind elsewhere.” 

The older woman sighed. She took the chair directly opposite of Asper and set a basket on the ground between them, overflowing with freshly-picked lavender. “Here. Help me pick the green off of these. We can talk as we work.”

For a moment, Asper thought of protesting. She was not the kind to invite others into her private thoughts. But Dilwyn... she was a special case. She was an old family friend, knowing Asper since she was but a young girl. When Asper had been roughed up in one too many childish streetbrawls, Dilwyn had been there to apply salves to her cuts and bruises. She wasn’t quite family, but she was closer than a mere boss or friend. If Asper had any to compare to, she could almost call her an odd aunt of some sort. So instead she just nodded, taking a bunch of flowers into her lap and beginning to prune them.

“What is on your mind?”

“Not much,” she began. “Just thinking about the future.”

“Ah." Dilwyn snipped at one of the buds, letting the leaves fall back into the basket. "So you are wondering whether or not to get married, then?”

Asper’s eyes widened. “How would you even come to that conclusion?” she sputtered, taken off guard. “Of course I am going to marry. It has been planned for months.”

“But it hasn’t felt real until now, has it?" Dilwyn made a soft humming sound, clearly amused by her reaction. It was motherly, as if she knew better than Asper did. Asper didn't like it one bit. "As it comes nearer, you are suddenly realizing what it means.”

Asper shifted in her seat, beginning to get irritated. She didn’t appreciate the woman’s opinionated assumptions, correct or not. It made her feel like an open book, of which she did her very best to be the exact opposite. It was one thing for her to discuss her thoughts with another person. Having them presume her problems and project their own worries was another case entirely. “I know that it is real, and I have always known,” she assured her. “I am simply wondering what kind of man he is. I wonder how it will affect us all.”

Dilwyn made the humming sound again, clearly not entirely believing her. “I see. Do you know his name?”

“Haras. Haras Timban.” Maker, why did it have to sound so ridiculous coming from her mouth?

“Well, then that is a start then, is it not? A name is a very good beginning for getting to know people.”

“But it has very little bearing on character,” she snapped back. “How do I know that he will find a good job? How do I know that he will treat me as an equal? How do I know that he will respect my father, or be kind to Soris, or see Shianni as family and not as a woman? How do I know that… that...” She struggled to find the right phrase.

“That he is good enough?” Dilwyn offered.

Asper sighed. “Yes,” she admitted, “but saying it aloud sounds conceited. As if I think I am smarter than my own elder.”

The other woman leaned back in her chair, taking a quiet moment before replying. “You know, I had almost this exact conversation with your mother, once.”

The bud of lavender abruptly slipped through Asper’s hands, landing on the floor. She hadn’t expected this subject to come up now of all times. Her father never voluntarily discussed her mother. In fact, he often evaded the subject entirely. It called too many memories to his mind and brought too much wetness to his eyes. The rest of the alienage shirked the topic as well, as the means of her death made them entirely uncomfortable. She had gotten Dilwyn to share details before, but that was usually after weeks of probing. This was unprecedented.

“She was worried about marrying my father?” Asper asked. That didn’t sound like her mother at all.

“Oh heavens, no,” Dilwyn affirmed. “Those two loved each other more than the ocean loves the sky. Adaia skipped down the aisle on the day that they married. But before your father, there was another man.”

Asper clung to her words, desperate for this uncovered information. “Another man? You mean that she had chosen to marry someone else?”

Dilwyn shook her head. “No, _she_ hadn’t chosen him. It was an arranged marriage, like yours. She had the exact same questions that you did. She came to me one night, making me promise to help her flee if her husband ended up being a bastard.”

Asper let what Dilwyn said sink in. As far back as she could remember, her mother and father were the two happiest people in the world, especially when they were around each other. When the two of them had a day off in tandem with each other, they would send Asper and her cousins to play outside all day. Complaints from the neighbors for the obscene noise would begin rolling in within the hour. They looked at each other like they were seeing stars, and she distinctly remembered them dancing in the kitchen one night, her father twirling her mother as they waited for the stew to thicken. 

When her mother was gone, her father changed completely. It was like a candle blown out. After that, he would hardly speak about her, but she could see him thinking about her every day.

He had never told her that there had been another man.

“What became of their marriage?” she asked zealously. She scratched at the tattoo on the top of her shoulder-blade, the skin prickling. “Why did my mother not go through with it?”

“She did not respect him,” Dilwyn stated simply. “Your mother loved her family and her community, but she knew that she would regret being with someone who she couldn’t stand sleeping in the same bed with. She owed more to herself. So she waited until she found a man who she could talk to, who she could work with, and who she could find herself living in the same house with. As it turns out, respect and love are often correlated. That's the same way I found my Gethon.” Dilwyn smiled, a reminiscent look on her face. “Of course, she did not expect to find a love so remarkable. That was just a lucky coincidence.”

Asper turned a purple blossom over in her hands, unsure whether she should be enchanted by the memory of her mother or angry at what the woman was up to. She knew what Dilwyn was doing. She was trying to advise her to call off the wedding. This, of course, she couldn’t do. She knew that. 

Ultimately, Asper settled on an emotion between inquisitive and wary. “That may be... but who knows whether or not I respect Haras? I won’t know until I meet him.”

Dilwyn shrugged. “Of course, but that is a chance you have to be willing to take.”

“I will,” she declared. “My father has already set up the dowry. Shianni has picked out the drinks and food. Soris has chosen the flower arrangements. Mother Boann has already agreed to oversee the ceremony. Everything is ready. It would be insulting to go back on the time and money that they have spent on me.”

“Very well,” Dilwyn replied calmly, not meeting Asper’s eyes. “Then that is your choice. I simply wanted to share an anecdote of your dear mother. In the end, we will support any decision that you make, as long as it feels like the right one.”

The two women worked in silence for awhile, the only sounds being the soft swishing of petals and the sharp clink of clipping scissors. The quiet did not treat Asper kindly. If she had been uneasy before, she was entirely on edge now. This was the first time anyone had ever insinuated that not getting married was a palpable option. Sure, she could have easily chosen her own spouse earlier in her life, but she was in her mid-twenties now. The time for choosing was in the past. Or, at least, that’s what she thought. She had been so focused on labeling it as necessary that any diversion from that path made her head spin.

She mentally shook herself. A simple conversation would not cause her to falter. She would go through with the marriage as planned. As it should be. Everyone got pre-wedding jitters. It was only natural to be nervous.

Before long, the clock on the wall chimed the end of Asper’s shift. She stood from her chair, stretching her unused muscles.

“May I leave?” Asper asked, already grabbing her satchel on the counter.

“Of course,” Dilwyn said. “But, if you don’t mind, could you stop by the bakery on your way home? I received a message saying that Po has some more sugar to give to us, and the little ones take their medicine so much more easily when it’s sweetened.”

Asper sighed, her hand clutching the back of her thick red hair. “Must I? You know that the man doesn’t like me very much.”

“Nonsense!” Dilwyn chided. She took Asper’s palm, flattening a few thick coins into it. “Po likes you plenty. Oh, and you haven’t run out of your caplets, have you? I don’t want you to have to explain a bastard to your husband to be.”

Asper made a face, deploring the way she formulated the question. Dilwyn didn’t know about her second job, but she did know that Asper was partaking in certain forms of… intimacy. She supplied her with the herbal medication as a precaution. “Yes, I have my caplets. I always make sure to have at least a month’s worth.”

“Good. Now run along to the bakery, before you try to talk your way out of going.”

Asper muttered something under her breath, but agreed.

Leaving the rustic medicine shop behind and breaking a path towards the bakery, Asper forced her mind to stay on the task at hand. This was her last night at the Pearl, and then she would meet her fiance. She had to take it one step at a time. Soon enough, she arrived at a large bakery, a few blocks outside of the alienage walls. It was an old building, made with oak wood and chipped cement, but looked appropriately charming with a fresh coat of turquoise paint. Knowing that she would be harassed if she were to use the main entryway, she skirted around to the back. Lifting her hand to the back door, she knocked.

The top of the door came swinging open, the two halves splitting apart in the middle like individual gates. A man peered out, a suspicious look on his face. When he spied Asper, however, he broke into a mannerly smile.

“Ah!” He waved to her. “Signora! How may I help you today?”

Asper immediately felt a wave of resentment crash through her. She couldn’t stand two-faced people like Po. Here he was, greeting her like a proper customer, when she knew that if she had taken the front door, he would have completely ignored her. It wasn’t that the baker wouldn’t sell to elves. No, that would be a terrible marketing choice; elvhen children loved purchasing little cupcakes and hand pies for their birthdays. His establishment was one of the few human bakeries that would service those from the alienage. They just had to use the backdoor instead of the front.

“Dilwyn sent me,” she replied shortly, making sure to keep her voice polite. “She said that you had some old sugar for the shop.”

“That I do!” Po nodded. His accent was less thick than she had remembered. “Wait here a moment. I will get it.” He turned back into the building, closing the top panel behind him. Asper rubbed her palm against the back of her neck, anxious.

Two years ago, Asper had worked in this bakery. She had already been employed by Dilwyn for a few years, and the older woman had introduced her to Po when she asked about getting a second job. Her family’s coin purses were becoming more and more hollow by the day, working through the money that her mother had left them, and they needed more income if they were to make their rent. Po’s shop was the solution. It was newly opened, as he had just moved from Antiva. Dilwyn had helped his son get over a near-fatal case of pneumonia when they first arrived, so she had immediately become one of his trusted allies. He was desperate for good workers and accepted Asper’s recommendation immediately. 

At first, the pay was very good. Po didn’t know that he could get away with paying his workers scraps in Denerim. He had come from a tiny coastline town, where everyone knew everyone and would all share harvests with each other during the holidays. Much like the alienage, she supposed. However, that naivety didn’t last long. Two months in, he cut her wages in half. She needed the money, so she couldn’t exactly protest.

After that, his bakery slowly began to gain traction. Soon, he wasn’t just selling to elves and peasants. When the tourists and lords finally discovered the ‘exotic’ Antivan shop, his business boomed. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a bakery. It was a _patisserie._ With such an inflation of reputable customers, Po found himself having to be more careful. After all, having a bunch of grubby elvhen dockworkers stalling at the counters scared away even the bravest noble. So he started having the elves and servants use the back entryway instead. It was a way of having his cake and eating it too.

At first, Asper was just moved to night shifts, so that less distinguished customers were less likely to see her. Then, she was moved to only work in the back, preparing the dough and fillings for the next morning. Finally, after her long elvhen ears and dirty feet were spotted by one too many upperclass customers, he had taken her aside and told her that he could no longer make use of her services. It was almost ironic. Poor human shops could have elvhen workers, and rich human shops could have elvhen workers (as long as they wore the proper servile attire and never met anyone's eyes), but the ones in the middle would get shamed for giving "a good man's wage to one of those knife-ears". As if elves couldn't have specialized skills. No, all they were good for was cleaning, moving, and serving drinks.

It wasn’t even just the money. While the extra pay was good, she had begun to genuinely enjoy the job. Compared to most of the other forms of employment that her people got stuck with, she had been extremely fortunate. Instead of her hands being covered in splinters from moving heavy cargo, they were covered in flour. Instead of boiling underneath the sun atop a rickety scaffolding, she only had to withstand the heat of the oven. And as much as it irked her to admit it, the wares at the bakery were popular for a reason. There were the traditional Ferelden pies and braided sweet breads, but then there were also the cannolis, the zeppoles, the crostatas with sugar glazed onto the crusts. Fruits were cooked in more ways than she had ever known. 

In a world where cinnamon sometimes seemed like a luxury, the pastries delighted the younger Asper. She had always been the temperamental, hotheaded type, but the grind of the job somehow made her calmer. It took a lot of brute strength to beat the ingredients, carry the trays, and knead the multiple pounds of dough, which allowed her to work out some of her pent-up aggression. It was a shame that the owner had to be such a fucking racist fool.

Speaking of which… Po reappeared in the doorway, half a bag of sugar slung across his shoulder. He lifted it and held it out to Asper, which she retrieved with a quiet thank you. Hoping that she could be finished with the interaction as quickly as possible, she held out the coins Dilwyn had given to her. Since the sugar was already too crusty for proper baking, he sold it at a discount, but in no world would the man give supplies to an elvhen business for free. 

He took the money, and Asper turned to leave with the sugar. However, he stopped her, raising his hand in a halting motion. “Wait a moment,” he asked. Then he took an object off a nearby counter, holding it out to her. “Bring this back home. Share with your cousins. I know that you all have a sweet tooth.”

It was a small bag of cookies, baked to a golden color and rolled in powdered sugar. They were clearly days old, the edges cracked off and displaying their stale insides, but it didn’t stop them from looking delicious. Her stomach nearly gurgled. She hadn't eaten yet.

“Ricciarelli,” he declared. “Almond is still your favorite, yes? I have been trying to sell this batch all week, but the fruit tarts seem to be the most popular right now.”

Asper shifted the bag of sugar in her hands. The unexpected gesture made her apprehensive. “I cannot afford any of your goods right now, ser,” she ventured. “Even at a discount.”

Po shook his head, smiling coyly. “No, no, you misunderstand, signora. This is a gift. You have not come by my shop in some time. I am sure that you miss the taste. So here. Take it. Like old times, yes?”

He spoke like he was granting her the greatest kindness. He spoke as if nothing between them had ever happened. It enraged her. Heat rushed to her face, and she had to struggle to hold her tongue. How dare he? How dare he treat her like this, feeding her his old discards like a lost tramp? She tried to not let her pride lead her into trouble, but this was inexcusable. She left the bakery over two years ago. He had fired her for simply being what she was, crumpling under the pressure of a few complaints. The gall of him… to think that she would be understanding. That she would have forgiven him. Because of him, she had been out of money for the next month’s rent. Because of him, she has been constrained into desperate means. 

Because of him, she had to start working at the Pearl.

She fought back the urge to run up the stairs and strike him. Instead, she simply shook her head. “No thank you, _ser,_” she bit off the word like an insult. “I think you have mistaken my politeness for friendliness. That is not so. I am not in so dire a need to take your rubbish that would otherwise be thrown in the trash.”

Po stared at her, not knowing what to say. He brought his arm back to his body, the cookies sadly swinging from his hand.

Asper bowed her head to him stiffly. “Now. If you will excuse me,” she said, her voice a low rasp, “I must be going. Thank you for the sugar.”

She didn’t wait for Po to reply. Turning on her heel, she stalked off back into the city. She supposed that she could have been more courteous, but it had taken everything in her not to bloody his damn nose. She dropped off the sugar back at the medicine shop and spent her time before her second job laying in her bed, trying to sleep her anger away.

\---

Asper watched the clock as it ticked down. Two hours and she would never have to see this infernal place again. Two hours and she could leave the Pearl for good. She was giddy at the thought.

Flipping open a handheld mirror, she analyzed how her makeup was handling the humid night. Her eyeliner had held up surprisingly well, but her lips were starting to become a bit runny. Popping open the palette that held her rouge, she applied more of the dark red cream around her mouth. There. Much better.

She took a minute just to look at herself. She didn’t mind most of the makeup, thinking of it as a sort of costume for her job. She would never wear it by choice, but it helped make her less recognizable. She did, however, dislike the foundation that she was required to wear. It was too pinkish for her gold-toned skin, clearly a hand-me-down from one of the other girls. More than that, it concealed nearly every single one of her freckles. Perhaps if she had discovered foundation when she was younger, she would have been grateful. As a child, she loathed her freckles. The girl she had been sweet on during grade-school told her that they looked like dirt. It had broken her heart. Now, she didn’t mind them so much. They were a part of her as much as her red hair or blue eyes. In a job that forced her to hide everything that she was, she had come to cherish the little original things about her. Perhaps that was one of the parts of growing up that her father always talked about.

The doorbell jingled. Asper rose from her seat at the counter and welcomed the guests to the Pearl. They were two young men clad in orange and red suits. The fact that they didn’t care about being seen in their noble attire meant that they were rich enough to buy off (or simply off) any naysayers. They were flaunting their wealth. She made sure to bat her eyelashes a few extra times and called them ‘lord’ like it was a dirty word. They loved her act and demanded to book a room with her, to which she had to oh so unfortunately decline. She was on desk duty tonight, see. They would have to come again some other night, when she was working a room.

Of course, she wouldn’t be here another night, but it didn’t hurt to bring in the Pearl a little extra revenue after she was gone.

The rest of the hour went similarly, with her bringing out her coworkers for the clients to choose from and handling the transactions. While each of the workers were paid similar wages depending on their number of customers, nearly everyone was given individual tips. This was because the Pearl, unlike many other brothels, allowed their workers to reserve the right to deny a customer. It didn’t happen often (that would be bad business), but it still happened. If a client had a particularly odd fetish, they might pay a little more, as to encourage requittance. Of course, that didn’t stop the skinflints from walking out without leaving a tip, but it did mean that they could keep worker abuse to a minimum. Lasting marks, other than those allowed by the worker, were forbidden.

Classiness was what the Pearl was known for. The workers were ‘happy, clean, and eager to please’. It wasn’t just a brothel. It was an ‘establishment’. A ‘pearl in a sea of empty oysters’. At least, that’s what the owner always told them to say. Ugh.

The bell rang again, indicating another customer. Asper set down the ledger she had been balancing and smiled sweetly at the figure in the doorway.

It was a tall elvhen man, all lanky legs and swinging arms. He looked dazed for a moment, as if he hadn’t been expecting to actually walk into a brothel. Asper stood hospitably. She assumed that this must be his first time. They were always jumpy.

“Welcome to the Pearl, ser!” She beckoned him closer with a hand. “How can we help you today?”

When his eyes fell on Asper, the man froze. He stood there for a moment, analyzing her. Suddenly, his pupils narrowed, and he strode his way towards her desk, a sinister look on his face. Asper faltered. Her hand fluttered underneath the desk to find the dagger that she always hid there.

“You,” he breathed, as if he was accusing her of something. “_You._ Asper Tabris?”

Asper didn’t reply, wanting to refuse the identification. Unfortunately, her silence seemed to act as a confirmation.

“ I was told that I’d find you here, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“What do you mean, ser?” She asked. Her hand found the dagger and she clutched at it. She didn't remember pissing off anyone in particular lately, but sometimes clients held grudges for quite awhile. Perhaps he was from her rougher phase? “Why were you trying to find someone like me?”

The man chuckled darkly. The sound made her grip on the blade tighten. “So that I could see if what she said was true. That my new wife is nothing but a dirty _whore_.” His face inched closer to hers, and she could see the rage in his dull eyes.

His words made a sharp pang of pain ricochet through her body, her panic manifesting physically. She couldn’t completely understand what he was saying. What she said? Who was she? And who was his new wife? It didn’t make sense. Who was this? What was he talking about? Her mind refused to accept what he was insinuating.

“I suppose I am glad, though,” he continued, “that I found you working the front desk instead of being in the middle of servicing some diseased _shem_. At least I don’t have to go through that disgrace.”

It didn't make sense, but it seemed like the only option. This was her husband to be. It was-

“-Haras?” she asked unsurely.

“Of course. That is the name of your fiance, after all. Unless there’s some other fiances I don’t know about.” He took a breath and rubbed a palm against the side of his head. “Maker, don’t even tell me. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Asper’s mind caught up with her situation. She rose from her chair, training herself to keep her voice from trembling. “You… weren’t supposed to be here until next week.”

“A supplies wagon was leaving town and offered me a ride,” he explained drably. “I thought that I might come a bit early, so I could try to get to know my future wife before our wedding day.” He bent back to a straight position, smoothing back his hair. “I came to your house and met your family. They were ecstatic to see me, but they couldn’t tell me where you were. Working, they said. What a surprise it was for me when your neighbor told me where you really were.”

A neighbor? What neighbor? And her family knew that he was in Denerim? Maker, no. He would tell them. 

She had been lying to her family that she worked odd jobs at night, concealing her actual place of employment. Thus far, they seemed to have no idea. They probably suspected pickpocketing or general theft, but they would never expect their prideful Asper to commit to a brothel. Multiple alienage folk had stumbled across her during her moonlighting, but they knew well enough to keep quiet. Her father was a beloved, respected man, and would not put up with anyone calling his only daughter a wench. They also knew that discovering her whereabouts cast themselves in an incriminating light, as it meant they had crossed the gate to attend a human-run brothel. They wouldn't risk their own shame just to publicly out a wanton elvhen woman. 

Besides, most of the alienage elves that she came across during work hours were sympathetic to her plight. Most knew that her father was being scammed by his employer, and discerned that she was only working to help ends meet. They kept quiet out of respect, or perhaps because they knew that she would bloody them otherwise. 

The reasoning didn't really matter, only that it worked. All of the shadowy corners and whispered rumors knew exactly what she did, but as long the stream didn't flow to her family, she didn't care. 

They would find out some time, of course. She had just wanted to put it off until after the wedding. She wanted to squeeze every penny out of her last few shifts, and her father would have surely demanded her to quit if he had found out. He would tell her that they would be able to make do, even when they couldn't. He would tell her that she could be anything that she wanted to be, even when she shouldn't. He would tell her that their house wasn't being eyed at by landowners, that they weren't desperately pushing for its foreclosure, even when they were. The family couldn't afford another lost paycheck.

“I’m sorry,” she said genuinely. It was the only thing she could think of to rectify the situation, although it felt like trying to put gauze on a lost arm. “I am sorry that you had to meet me like this. This is my last night, I promise. I only worked here to make sure we could get by.”

Haras’s eyes flashed. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that my fiance is a streetwalker. There are plenty of other ways to make money. Purer ways.” His gaze settled on the ground, as if she was something too crude to look at. 

She had heard this ruse time and time before. She was terrible; she was a harlot; she was a soulless witch. Most of the times it was thrown at her from clients too rough or poor to pay, but a passing stranger would sometimes throw it out when she was cleaning the windows. Even though brothels were welcomed in nearly every city across Ferelden, their workers were not. It was a cruel, hypocritical world. Love the sin, but hate the sinner.

Haras wavered before speaking his next words, but was ultimately able to force them out. “The Maker doesn’t shine his light on people like you.”

Ah. See, there it was. Her inevitable damnation. And Asper understood. She understood his rage. She understood the stigma of being a working woman. She understood the ideal of purity that many of her alienage still flocked to, especially when pertaining to marriage. She understood that what she was doing spat on tradition. She understood why he would hate her. She herself was ashamed by what she did. She did not like being here. She was not proud of it.

She understood all of this, but she couldn’t help but feel her own defiance light up inside of her. He did not understand her situation. He did not understand who she was. He did not know that they would have lost the house otherwise. He did not know of Soris' broken leg, or Shianni's alcohol addiction, or her father's illness that had nearly made him bedridden for life. He did not know that she had exhausted all of her other options. He did not know that she swallowed doses upon doses of numbing herbs on her first night, or hadn't slept for days afterwards because of the squirming shame inside of her. 

He did not know her, not at all. Dilwyn had told her to not put up with any man who wouldn't respect her. So she wouldn't.

“You were not here,” she croaked quietly. Then she swallowed, gulping down her apologies and her guilt, and left only her temerity. Her volume rose. “You do not know how I grew up. You do not know that I would do anything to keep my family safe and off of the streets." There was a fiery flickering in her eyes. She took a step towards Haras, her hand pressing onto the gate that separated the two of them. "You nor the Maker himself may judge me."

Haras faltered, taken aback by her sudden switch. "But you did not have to sell yourself!" he sputtered, desperate to attain a semblance of the moral high ground. 

Asper splayed her hand on her chest, right above where her heart would be. "That was my choice! I may have been selling myself, but it is my body to sell!”

He stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. There was a hiccuping pause where a reply should have been, halting the intense tempo of the conversation. 

“No," he finally replied. "No, it's not." His eyes began to water. “It's not just your body. Not when you are planning to marry. Not when you are planning a life together. A union is giving each other everything. Your heart, your house, your body. You share _everything_. We would have shared _everything_. That's what love is!”

Oh. Asper blinked. 

The youth of the man standing in front of her was suddenly apparent. Despite his glowering expression, Asper realized that Haras was probably younger than her. There was a sort of whine to his voice, as if he was desperate for this reality to not be true. This wasn’t just another angry client. This was a boy whose dreams had just been shattered. While his ideas of marriage seemed old-fashioned, they were not far off from what the elders recited during the ceremony. He had wanted a proper partnership, a proper spouse. The lad had been looking for a lovely little wife to dote on, but he had come to find no one here that could fit such a description. This was more than just a stigma. He had actually been looking forward to marrying her. He had been ready to fall in love.

Haras tried to hide a tear, scrubbing aggressively at his cheek. “How can I share something that you’ve already decided to share with half of the city?” he asked.

Asper drew in a stream of air and attempted to find the correct response. Although his concept of love was heavily flawed, she still felt like she was responsible. “I have shared nothing with these people here,” she affirmed. “It it just a job. Like a builder, or a waitress, or a servant. I give them my labor and that is all. And now, I give them nothing. Like I said, this is my last night. I was quitting so I could be a proper partner. I promise. I had not meant to hurt you.”

The energy of Haras' wrath had drained, leaving an arguably worse expression behind. He looked unquestionably heartbroken. Oh, Maker. She was not prepared to suddenly begin comforting the boy that had condemned her to hell only a few minutes prior. He gazed at her, and she gazed back at him. In another world, in another introduction, she wondered if she would have found him pretty.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I'm sorry. I know what’s it like to do anything just to survive. I know that being here isn’t something that you wanted. I am sure you had your reasons, but I…" He sighed and held his forehead in his hands. "I cannot go through with this. I can’t be with someone like you.”

Asper held her breath.

“I'm sorry. The wedding is off.”

She knew it the moment he had revealed his identity as her fiance, but it didn’t stop the words from hitting her like a boulder. Her body felt like it had been dropped into a lake, her limbs heavy and her skin numb. 

She nodded dumbly. “Of course. My apologies for making you travel all the way here.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and it felt like someone else was speaking with her voice. The wedding was off. The wedding that her family had been planning for, paying for, for months. It was gone. Just like that. “I can offer you compensation, if you need it.”

Haras shook his head, now unwilling to wholly meet her eyes. “No. I am sure I can catch another wagon to Lothering. Denerim is always sending supplies.”

“Then…” Asper was unsure of what to say. Trying to think felt like wading through a vat of molasses. Acting on instinct, she reached out to gently take hold of Haras’s wrist. “Then all I can say is that I am glad that I got to meet you. I am sorry that I couldn’t be what you wanted. I am sure you’ll find someone who will make you very happy.” For the first time in months, she felt a sting behind her eyelids, tears threatening to form. She blinked them away. It was business. That was all. Just another form of business. "And… please, if you ever felt any sort of tenderness towards me, even as a fiance you never met, do not tell my family about this. I will give them the news myself.” She gave him a pleading look.

Haras looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded. He took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I… Yes. I can do that for you. I will tell my elder that I did not like the danger of Denerim, and that I worried for the well-being of my family without me. He will understand." Haras let go. "I... I hope that you too will one day find happiness. If you can.”

Both of them shocked at the way the interaction had gone, they were unsure of what to do next. He must have expected her to put up a fight, or beg him to stay. She had expected him to drag her outside and throw everything he had at her. Instead, they had reached a sort of peculiar consensus. There were no flying fists or bruised eyes, no shrieking voices or heavy threats. There was only a sullen quietness. 

They didn't have anything left to say to each other. No matter what they could have once become, there was now nothing left in their life that connected them. 

With a final curt goodbye, Haras turned and left the Pearl, leaving Asper alone in the hall with her thoughts.

The last hour passed like a blink. Then she was home. Her father welcomed her inside with an embrace, with Shianni rambling about how handsome her fiance was and Soris waving to her from the kitchen. She wasted no time in informing them of the new development. The story came easily. Haras had decided that he did not want to marry her, what with the politics in Denerim and the distance from his family, and had come to tell her in person. It was a respectable reason to call off a marriage. She hated how the smiles immediately fled from her family’s faces when she told them the news, but she had no choice. She couldn’t keep them in the dark. The quicker they dismantled the wedding plans, the better. She was just thankful that they hadn't handed over the dowry yet.

The rest of the night was filled with an uncomfortable atmosphere. The household was dejected, and despite the dinner being one of her favorites, Asper could taste nothing. She excused herself from supper early to lay in her bed, burying into her sheets to block out as many of her senses that she could. 

Soon after, Shianni entered the room. Without a word, she crept into the place on the bed beside her older cousin, pulling the blanket over her own shoulders. The two of them hadn’t had to share a bed since they were children, but sometimes, when one of them was going through hell, it was comforting just to have the other near.

Brushing her fingers through Shianni’s hair, just like she always used to do, Asper slowly lulled herself to sleep.


	4. Inside the Bird's Nest

Around Zevran, the tavern was roaring.

Upon returning to the primary base in Antiva City, the trio was informed that their contract had been an astounding success. The client was so pleased with their results that not only had they paid extra, but had individually tipped all three of them. Even better, they promised that if they had any need of similar services in the future, they would only accept members from House Arainai. Their guildmaster was delighted with the news. Apparently, their client was a particularly influential noble who might soon make an attempt for the Antivan throne. Receiving a vow of loyalty could mean years of success for the House. At least, until they were inevitably hired to assassinate the client themselves. As was the usual for Antivan royalty.

The three of them decided that they deserved a small celebration for their feat. Rinna immediately suggested that they go out to the local tavern. Their masters frequently paid for the establishment’s allegiance, so it would be a safer place than most. They hadn’t planned to bring a crowd along, but with each of them inviting a comrade here and there along the way, the place ended up attracting more Crows than a fresh carcass. They all quickly decided that the best course of action was to get as inebriated as their guildmaster would possibly allow. People in their line of work always had to keep their wits about them as foes and rivals were constantly vying to slit their throats, but a night of contained debauchery was all part of the job.

In actuality, Zevran, Rinna, and Taliesen’s success was hardly worth commemoration. As a prestigious house, important clients were always coming and going. Indeed, it seemed like half of the noble lineages were ‘trying’ for the crown. No, he and the other Crows were simply using their achievement as a justification to get out of the garrisons. There had been a dry spell of customers and an increase in mortalities during the last few months. They wanted to find something, anything, to celebrate. 

Not that they needed much of an excuse.

Zevran couldn’t make out who was who as he was pulled and pushed from one person to the next. At some point, someone had thrust a glass of thick wine into his hand, the kind of cheap liquor drank strictly for getting tastefully drunk. He gladly indulged. 

He danced excitedly with anyone who would have him, twirling and being twirled all the same. It felt good to have a proper sweat. Being so accustomed to the swelter of a deadly struggle, it felt almost foreign to him. A spurned lover, a drunken giant, a job gone wrong. During those times, it was a cold and dry sweat, making his skin clammy to the touch. The other common scenario was when he was bedding someone. This was a better sweat, of course. Lately, however, most of such situations have been work-related. It is not quite as fun when he is being ordered by his superiors to do it. No, not nearly as much fun at all.

But dancing? Drinking? Laughing so hard that he nearly fell to the floor? That was something worth sweating over. 

As he traded his partners repeatedly, he was able to spy Rinna through the crowd. She was leading a shapely dwarven woman in a drunken mockery of the samba. It was clear that neither of them really knew what they were doing, but it looked like they were having fun. He took a few steps towards the two, but the gap that allowed him to see her was quickly filled with more dancers. Rinna was once again lost to the crowd.

The excitement of the party made his skin buzz, and he suddenly wished that he had someone to merrily throw his arm around. He tried it with a few of the revelers around him, but it didn’t feel quite right. It was not _their_ achievements that they were all celebrating, after all. Turning his entire body to look, he spotted Taliesen atop a nearby counter. Slugging himself up alongside the robust man, he flung an arm around his figure. Taliesen immediately returned the gesture, his full laughter ringing in Zevran’s ears. Ah, yes. This was the correct shoulder.

Zevran and Taliesen began to rhythmically sway. The song that the musicians played thankfully had lyrics, so they had something to properly belt to. While Zevran would usually defend his singing ability, claiming it to be ‘alluring’ on most days, he threw away all reservations and simply shouted the words. Their clamor drew the attention of the carousing crowd, who readily joined in.

A body was pushed to the front of the mass, and Rinna was stepping onto the counter with them. Zevran held out a steadying hand, which she gratefully took. She wrapped her arm around his other shoulder, sandwiching Zevran between her and Taliesen. 

Ah, yes. This was the other correct shoulder. He hadn’t realized it, but this was exactly what his drunken impulse had been looking for. Them.

The trio responsible for the group’s night out was reunited, causing the crowd to raise a toast. They all downed another cup of wine, and Zevran mentally noted that he should cap himself. As fun as it was to act like a bunch of wild lechers, he couldn’t allow himself to actually become unstable. He had to be prepared to fight. Even hours of dancing wasn’t enough cause to make him discard the dagger strapped to his calf. He had been working for far too long to be that negligent.

Still, there was no harm in a little revelry once in awhile. He slung back his glass with the rest of them, promising to himself that it would be the last one.

The swaying of the three assassins became even more extreme. They rocked in time with the tempo, not caring what they looked like. Sometimes, people just had to get all of the idiocy out of their system. That was what tonight was for many of them. It was a chance to drop it all. Tonight, they didn’t have to think about contracts or clients. They didn’t have to think about stretching racks or whipping posts. They could just be another group of obnoxious partygoers.

Taliesen’s grip on Zevran became looser as they swayed. He gave the elf a devious look, and before he could question the expression, Taliesen allowed his hand to slip further down Zevran’s back. Each beat of the music was another inch down, until finally his hand rested someplace that made the crowd hoot with delight. Zevran was prepared to make a joke about Taliesen having a better taste in men than in booze, but then another hand suddenly joined the other. This one was much more… feminine. Rinna tried to give Zevran the same sneaky look that Taliesen had, but failed. She laughed gleefully. Zevran shrugged his shoulders, as if to tell their audience that he had accepted his fate. It wasn’t his fault that he had such a fantastic ass. Someone hollered for the three of them to get a room, to which they replied with knowing looks.

As the song changed, the two hands found themselves returning to their original positions around his shoulders. This piece was slower, more violin than trumpet, and their swaying reflected the transition.

Zevran turned to look at Taliesen. He was beaming, singing the words of the song louder than anyone else. He always loved to be the loudest.

He then turned his head towards the opposite direction. There was Rinna, giggling more freely than he had seen in months. She always loved finding any little thing to be joyful about.

Inexplicably, Zevran felt a swelling of feelings inside his chest. Like all emotional revelations, this one came unexpectedly. He did not know what he was feeling. He did not know what to call it. The best approximation he could gather was blissfully content. Life was not easy, but since the three of them had begun officially taking contracts together, it had become easier. He was still a Crow. He could still die tomorrow. Yet, at this moment, it all seemed relative. His corpse could be in a gutter by the end of the week, but the end of the week was not now. 

He was alive tonight, and there was no one he’d rather have in his arms.

Alas, all good things must inevitably end. As time waxed deeper into night, the party slowly subsided until it grinded to a complete stop. They each had their duties in the morning and needed at least a few proper hours of sleep to carry them out. By the time that they were walking back to the base, very few of them were still tipsy, if any at all. They knew that it would be foolish to return in one massive, drunken bunch. Instead, they staggered themselves, with Taliesen, Rinna, and Zevran leaving later than most of the others. It was a fine stroll. The stars shone like pinpricks in the sky, and the gibbous moon supplied them with plenty of light to see by. Soon enough, they were back inside of their rooms.

In Zevran’s area of the building, four rooms made up a set, sharing one bathroom and kitchen. Their trio resided in one of these sets. Despite their party only consisting of three, their masters had never placed a fourth person in the last room. Instead, they all used it for storage, firm in their belief that the higher-ups would never drop a random comrade into their living space. They were a unit, after all. They had lived near each other since they began their field training, which was at least a decade by now. Throwing in a stranger would only leave the poor soul ostracized. Unless the masters were trying to break in a new recruit, they had the place to themselves.

Zevran carefully unlaced his boots and hung up his leathers. As he prepared for bed, he listened to his two companion’s own nightly activities. Rinna was in the bathroom, scrubbing at her teeth. That was smart; her breath would surely be smelling of stale liquor in the morning otherwise. Taliesen was most likely undressing, what with the swishing sound of fabric. There was a loud thunk, most likely Taliesen tripping over his own pants. Through the plaster, he could hear a quiet curse. Zevran smiled, knocking on his corresponding wall.

“You alright there, friend?” he asked, amused. “Do you need any help?”

Taliesen grunted, clearly exerting himself, before swearing again. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Barge in with my slacks caught around my ankles?”

“I have caught you in much worse positions, my dear.”

Taliesen didn’t reply. Thinking that the complication was amended, Zevran went back to his bed. While they didn’t have to report until late morning, he knew that he would regret not taking every minute of sleep that he could. He hadn’t danced with such vigor in awhile. His muscles would be complaining come tomorrow; even now, his back was already aching with each movement.

Puzzling noises began to pour in from the hallway. It was an odd sound. The only thing he could compare it to was the act of a three-legged horse dragging itself across the ground. There was a heavy thunk on his door, too weighty to be from a fist, and then his door swung open, revealing a smug-looking Taliesen in the doorway. His trousers were caught halfway down his legs, revealing his shorts-like smalls. Zevran was thankful that Taliesen was wearing one of his nicer pairs. He couldn’t stand when he wore the holey ones.

Taliesen gestured towards his predicament. “I have decided to take you up on your offer after all.”

He lunged into the room, his pants restraining the motion of his knees. His movements were sporadic and uneven, and Zevran wondered if he was exaggerating it for comedic effect. He wouldn’t put it past him. When he was a foot from the bed, he sprang towards it, landing loudly on the mattress. He flipped over so that he was facing Zevran and looked up at him expectedly. 

“Well? Are you going to help or not?”

Zevran sighed. “_Porco cane…_” he muttered under his breath. “Yes, yes, just be still. I will help you. How did this even happen?”

Taliesen grinned at him. “Well. See, all of my own pairs were being washed. I didn’t want to have to pick them up before our festivities, and I knew someone who would surely not mind me borrowing them...” he raised his eyebrows, leading Zevran to the answer. He did not like it.

“Taliesen!” Zevran chided. “I am sizes smaller than you! I am surprised that they have not burst at the seams!” 

Although there was reprimanding tone to his voice, he couldn’t help but grin back. What a fool. Zevran and Taliesen hadn’t been the same size in years, not since Taliesen began training with shortswords and plated armor. In fact, he and Rinna were closer in pants size than he and Taliesen were. Not that he would ever state that aloud, of course. Zevran simply had very toned legs.

“They fit just fine going on,” Talisen replied. “It’s getting them off that seems to be a challenge.” He wiggled his feet, inviting Zevran to aid him in tugging them off. “If you don’t want them ripped, you’ll help. If I’m stuck in these for another minute, I swear, I’ll bring a knife to them.”

“If you wanted my hands down your pants,” Zevran simpered, “there are easier ways to ask, you know.” Taliesen simply scoffed.

Entertained by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, Zevran relented to his position as pants-taker-off-er (a familiar title). He took ahold of the fabric and began to meticulously inch the trousers off. Not once did a thought of indecency cross his mind. They found that with four hands, it was much easier. He had plenty of experience in removing tight articles of clothing, after all. 

When they reached Taliesen’s ankles, their progressed slowed. Taliesen was far from being a hulky warrior, but he was still a human. Curse men and their abnormally large feet. 

Zevran was determined to not lose this pair of pants. They had been tailored just for him, and they made his hips look fantastic. His protectiveness of flattering clothes was not just a stroke to his own vanity. No, he considered it a practical requirement for his job. After all, how would he properly beguile a contract if he did not wear nice clothing? It would be as if Taliesen had smashed one of his vials of deathroot poison: a direct detriment to his work. He would be upset if it wasn’t so amusing.

Taliesen pushed and Zevran pulled, both of them struggling to contain their laughter as the cuffs refused to budge. They continued like that for half a minute, the fabric see-sawing between them and threatening to tear. It wasn’t until Rinna opened the door that the slacks finally decided to snap off, sending both of them sprawling in opposite directions. Taliesen’s smalls were fully displayed to the world, and Zevran was able to spot the small embroidered ‘T’ on the bottom hem. They both laughed, the comicality of the situation having reached its climax. Taliesen could finally separate his knees again, and Zevran had been able to save his pants.

Rinna looked back and forth between them confusedly. “If you two are having an outing, you could have at least locked the door,” she said, clearly accustomed to the two’s hijinks.

“Ah, my lovely Rinna, that is not it,” Zevran explained. “Our resident fool had worn one of my pants and couldn’t get them off.”

“Only because you have over a dozen,” Taliesen bleated back, defending himself. “What kind of man owns more pants than blades? You seem to be the fool here, not I.”

Zevran smiled cheekily at him. “If you think that is all the blades that I have, then you must have not found all of my hiding places yet.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Quiet down!” A voice from a few doors down suddenly shouted through the walls. “Some of us have to be on the road by dawn!”

Rinna called back an apology. Zevran and Taliesen shared a sheepish look and acquiesced, lowering their voices. Their fellow resident was not wrong. It had become awfully late.

“Now that we’ve solved your issue,” Zevran asked, “We can go to sleep, yes? I think our disgruntled neighbor has the right idea.”

“Of course,” Taliesen replied. Yet instead of standing and walking back to his own room as Zevran expected, he simply rolled over in the bed. “Goodnight,” Taliesen said plainly. He curled himself under the blanket, ignoring Zevran’s noise of protest.

Zevran turned to Rinna for support, but she was already gone from her place beside him. Instead, she had climbed up onto the bed herself.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. Scoot over.” With that, she joined Taliesen under the blankets. “It’ll get colder later, and my room always gets the brunt of it. Besides, your bed’s the biggest.” She was right. Of the amenities that Zevran had been able to choose from when he was bestowed the room, he made sure that he got the biggest bed they had. He could make a jest about it being for the purposes of extraordinary lovemaking, but honestly, he just enjoyed a nice bed. Most of the inns that they stayed in during contracts had mattresses like stone.

“Come on in,” Taliesen invited. He patted a space next to him on the comforter. He didn’t seem to understand the irony of welcoming him into his own bed.

Zevran considered his position. He could kick them out and be deemed heartless, or he could join them. The answer seemed obvious.

He sighed. “Very well. But you two had better not kick in your sleep this time.” Briefly turning his back to them, he locked the doors and blew out the candles.

The room was plunged into darkness, only illuminated by the faint glow of light from the hallway. In an hour or so, even that light would be extinguished. He crawled into bed with the two of them, snatching one of the four pillows Taliesen had layered beneath his body. After wrapping himself up in the sheets, he laid his head down next to theirs.

When they were younger, the three of them had shared a bed every night. At first, it was out of necessity. The masters didn’t want to waste the money on multiple rooms for a bunch of fletchlings, so they were forced to pile into one. While they had an uncomfortable period of adaptation, they eventually embraced the situation. They were children at the time, too hungry for physical reassurance to be self-conscious. Besides, Antivan winters could be unmerciful. One could not complain about having an extra warm body to cling to.

Nowadays, they rarely had to share a room, much less a bed. They had proven themselves talented assassins, and as such received the proper benefits. At times, they still found themselves being drawn to the old habit, but they seldom acted on it. Sleeping together would insinuate a closer bond than the three were willing the others to know. Crows could ravish each other to their little hearts’ content, but showing any further attachment would be dangerous. Such relations could be exploited—not only by their enemies, but by the masters themselves. All of them would go through re-education at some point. Anything that they held close would be used against them.

Yet they were not indestructible. Sometimes, usually after bouts of drinking, the three of them would all collapse onto one bed, too exhausted to even remove their shoes. It wasn’t something they had to think about. Like tonight. 

It was easier this way.

It didn’t mean anything more than what it was.

They were just celebrating. 

It meant nothing.

Zevran pulled the blanket tighter around him, beginning to feel the chill that Rinna had warned them about. He was grateful that Taliesen had taken the position in the center. The man radiated heat like a furnace.

He attempted to stay conscious long enough to make sure the comforter wouldn’t get pulled off of him (both of his partners were blanket hogs), but he found himself becoming drowsy. His eyelids felt heavy, and he allowed them to shut. His only senses were the soft feeling of the sheets, the warmth of the body next to him, and the rhythmic sound of the others’ breathing. 

For the second time that night, he was struck with a sense of contentment. He did not know what was making his heart so tender, but he did not mind the feeling. Come tomorrow, he knew that he would have to bury it back inside him, pretending it never existed. He was a Crow. The people in bed next to him were only with him because the masters commanded them to be. They were only acquainted because they worked well together. That was all. He was a Crow. He was made to kill, not to… Well. 

The word eluded his mind. Even if he was allowing himself to feel this subtle moment of happiness, he would never go as far as to think something so unrealistic. While they may shout it in a drunken haze or whisper it between kisses, it could never be said without reason. It could never stand alone. They used each other to satisfy their needs. All people, humans and elves, dwarves and qunari, needed a companion. They all needed promises of loyalty and vows of affection. It did not matter whether or not they were true. It was like having porridge every morning for breakfast; while it may not be optimal, it gave them what was necessary to survive. He had to be thankful for even that. He would be content with his porridge. He had to be.

Thinking about the day ahead of him, Zevran’s head sunk deeper into his pillow. Without fail, Taliesen and Rinna’s breath had begun to match the same rhythm. His own breath naturally adapting to their pace, he was able to quickly slip into the comfortable darkness.

\---

Zevran awoke not among the soft cushion of two other bodies, but to rough, violent shaking. He snapped his eyes open, his arm immediately going to the dagger that he hid in the slit between the bed frame and the mattress. When he tried to bring it up to protect his chest and stomach, a hand clasped onto his wrist. How had anyone gotten into the room? He had made sure to lock all of the doors, and their rooms were underground, so there were no windows to sneak into. His mind desperately grabbed at any idea that could get him out of the situation. Instinctually, Zevran growled and bit at the figure above him, his survival impulses whirring into gear.

His teeth made contact with the flesh of what seemed to be an arm, causing the figure to curse. Ah. He knew that voice.

“Taliesen?” he wheezed.

Taliesen shifted in his position over Zevran. “Of course, you twit! Who else would it be?”

Zevran clamored to pull himself into a sitting position, wiping a spot of blood from his lip. He hadn’t bitten deep, but it was enough to cause a small puncture wound. He didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered scathingly, “Perhaps one of the hundreds of people that would love to smother me in my sleep?”

Taliesen pulled away, holding his palm over the bitemark. “Someone who wanted to smother you in your sleep would have not woken you up first!” He hissed when his hand made contact with the wound. “_Cazzo_. This stings like hell.”

“Then perhaps you should have not shook me awake, _stronzo_.” He glowered at Taliesen. His heart was still beating wildly in his chest, the adrenaline having not passed yet. “What was so important to wake me so early? The hall lights are not even lit yet!”

Taliesen shuffled backwards off of the bed and stood to his full height. He continued to rub at the bitemark, as if he could numb it into submission, before gesturing to the space besides Zevran. “Rinna is gone.”

Zevran turned over in bed, his arm waving out to feel the space behind him. Just as Taliesen said, Rinna was nowhere to be found. While it was unusual for her to up at this hour, it was not improbable. Full-fledged Crows were free to roam where they wished, no matter the time. Curfews were not imposed on them.

“So what?” he snapped, doing nothing to hide his irritation with the rude awakening. “Perhaps she is using the bathroom. Perhaps she is training. Perhaps she woke and was unable to fall back to sleep, so she went to make herself a sandwich. It could be any of these things, and more.” 

Taliesen was acting oddly. They knew better than to be this unreasonably suspicious about one another. In the entire base, it was only themselves that they could trust.

“She is not here,” Taliesen informed. “She is not in the base at all. She brought her boots and her coat. Her satchel too. She has to be outside somewhere.”

Zevran roused himself, wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes. “Then perhaps the masters had her run an errand,” he offered. He stood and stepped closer to his tall companion. “Taliesen, what is this all about? This is unlike you, friend.”

Taliesen’s gaze shifted away from Zevran. He grit his teeth, as if attempting to hold something back. Finally, without warning, he spewed it out. “I think Rinna is hiding something,” he blurted.

Zevran violently shrugged, not understanding where the comment came from. “We are all hiding something! We are Crows, yes?”

Taliesen shook his head vigorously. “No. You don’t understand. I think that she’s hiding something big. Something that could put all of us into danger. I think she’s conspiring with someone.”

Zevran took a step back. He stared at Taliesen, taking in the statement piece by piece. What a foolish thing to say. “Taliesen…” he began. He was particular in his reaction, balancing his words between inquiring and careful. “That is a very heavy accusation. We have known each other for years. Why in the world do you begin doubting her now?”

“She is acting differently,” Taliesen insisted. “She usually tells us everything. What she ate, where she went, what she did the evening before. But lately, she has been uncommonly quiet. She has been disappearing at odd hours of the night, like now. She has been having meals with people I have never seen before, in restaurants she would never choose herself. And then, with our last contract…” he trailed off, but his gaze was firm. “You saw it, didn’t you? The red book. We hadn’t received intel about any red book. Yet she took it, no, practically searched for it. Does that not seem suspicious?”

Zevran had not considered any of these activities. In fact, he hasn’t even noticed the night-time escapades or dinner meetings. How had he been so unobservant? He and Rinna were supposed to be the perceptive ones. His constant awareness was what made him such a formidable assassin. He supposed it was because he let himself get comfortable when he was among Taliesen and Rinna. The masters always warned them to have faith in no one but themselves, but it was difficult to not become complacent among childhood friends. He only realized now that he may have let his affection warp his sight. It pained him to have to even think about it.

Zevran worried his bottom lip with his thumb. “If this is all true-” Taliesen nodded his head in solemn confirmation. “-then we have a very difficult situation on our hands.” He hated having to say it out loud. He did not want to so easily give into Taliesen’s theory, but it would be unwise to ignore it entirely. Despite their many ridiculing banters, Taliesen was far from stupid. Stupid Crows didn’t survive.

If Taliesen said that something seemed wrong, then something was wrong. One lesson that they were all taught during training was to listen to their intuition. When all else failed, it could be the one thing that saved them. If Taliesen’s gut told him that their closest friend was up to something, Zevran had to treat his concern as viable. Of course, there was a chance that it was actually Taliesen who was the one up to no good, and he was trying to turn him and Rinna against each other as a distraction. He couldn’t ignore that possibility. Zevran took a breath. No, he wouldn’t become that paranoid quite yet. He had to take the blows as they hit.

Taliesen sighed, smoothing back a tuft of hair that had fallen forward during his and Zevran’s struggle. Neither of them wanted to discuss their options. If Rinna was truly conspiring against them, it would be worse than a simple traitor in their midst. This was as personal as anything could be.

“So you agree that we should keep an eye on her?” Taliesen asked.

“...Yes,” he said, although he had to take a pause before answering. “We do not know what she is doing. It might all be a humorous misunderstanding.” His voice rose back to his usual chipper tone. “Perhaps she has started trying to date someone outside of the Crows, and does not want to inform us of her scandalous affair, yes?” 

Talisen snorted, clearly not believing his theory. “I doubt it. She has not taken a lover in years.” Other than them, Zevran wanted to say.

Even if Taliesen already seemed decided on Rinna’s guilt, he would not implicate his old friend so hastily. There were plenty of alternative explanations besides betrayal.

A thought then inserted his head.

“Taliesen. How do you not know that I am not conspiring against you too?” he asked genuinely. “How do you know that we are not both planning the Crows' demise?”

Taliesen chuckled almost mockingly, as if he was explaining how to hold a pommel to a child. “Zev, as good of an actor as you are, you have to lower your guard sometime. And when your mask is loosened, it does not just slip. It falls completely off.” 

Zevran stiffened. He did not like the implication that Taliesen was making. He was the primary decoy of their trio. He was the eloquent one, the persuasive one; it was his duty to convince others of his lovely little lies. To insinuate that he was so dumbly oblivious that Taliesen couldn’t even begin to suspect him… It was more insulting than any of the slanders and slurs Taliesen had thrown at him in the past. The back of his head weakly told him to be pleased that Taliesen did not think of him as a traitor, but he could not hear it above his indignation. 

“If that is what you think, then you must not know me as well as you think you do,” he stated, a dark timbre to his voice. “I promise that I am not the simpleton that you make me out to be.”

Talisen rubbed a palm down his face, clearly exasperated. Impatience began to bleed into his words. “Zevran, I did not mean it as a snub. You enjoy the feeling of security, of a place where you can let go. We all want that. Lately, it’s just been more obvious. I can believe you when you say that you wouldn’t harm us.”

Obvious. _Obvious._ He claimed that he was not trying to insult him, but then he went and used such weighted words. He was not so conspicuous, not so predictable. He could not have his emotions and thoughts analyzed so plainly. He was more than the chasing lover. He was more than the charming smile. Taliesen was daft to think anything else.

Zevran closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He could not let this predicament get in the way of the real problem. “I do not agree with you whatsoever,” he declared, “but very well. I will take your explanation, as naive and flawed as it is.”

Taliesen muttered something under his breath that Zevran couldn’t pick up. He then sat on the bed, allowing the elf the greater height. “Then we have reached a consensus? We will watch Rinna more carefully from now on?

He agreed. 

Taliesen waved his hand towards the mattress. “Come, then. We should try to be asleep by the time she returns. She might question otherwise.”

The last thing that Zevran wanted to do was to sleep next to the man that had just ridiculed him, but he supposed that there was little choice in the matter. If they were truly committed to investigating Rinna, they had to act like they suspected nothing. Taliesen returned to his previous center position in bed. Zevran followed suit, although he did not line his back up with Taliesen’s as he had before. He was not in the mood to be making physical contact with anyone as of now.

Just a few hours ago, he had felt content with his situation in life. He had reveled in his position within the Crows, and appreciated the relationships he had gained. In only a few hours, all of it was being put into question. He scolded himself for letting him feel that moment of satisfaction. He knew that it would come back to weigh him down, yet he had permitted the thoughts anyway. He had to be stronger. He had to be smarter. For all he knew, Rinna... Gods. When he thought of Rinna, his bones physically ached. The two of them, nay, the three of them had always been legitimate together. They had always confided in each other. Despite warning after warning, they insisted on keeping up this facade of closeness. It had taken a while, but maybe those mirrors were finally crumbling down.

Perhaps the masters were correct, he thought miserably. Perhaps he could have faith in no one but himself.

He attempted to still his thoughts, knowing that Rinna would be able to tell if he was faking sleep. Closing his eyes, Zevran fell into an uneasy half-slumber.

He could only vaguely remember when Rinna returned, his mind heavy with the haze of a forgotten dream. All that he recalled was the weight of another person on the bed and the light pressure of a kiss on his brow. If he had been more conscious, he might have felt disconcerted.

By the time that the morning chimes finally rang, informing all of the base’s inhabitants of the sunrise, Zevran had somehow fallen completely asleep. For a moment, his mind didn't catch up to him, and he smiled at the sight of the two figures dozing in the bed beside him. Then the realization of last night settled in. It caused familiar apprehension to retake its position inside his chest, and the scene in front of him suddenly seemed regretful. They had agreed to investigate Rinna. Maker, if only he could wake up to any other thought.

Zevran forced himself to act out his morning routine, but his head was not there with him. It floated thousands of miles above, almost suffocating in the atmosphere of his thoughts. Taliesen was his usual self, making jokes at the breakfast table and pointing out Zevran’s deplorable bedhead. He did his best to counter him. It was difficult at first, but once he awoke fully, he found it coming to him naturally. He did not even have to focus on trying. Just like that, his mask was tied back on.

Rinna handed him a mug of fresh coffee. He accepted, although he nearly winced when her thumb brushed against his forefinger. The coffee was good. At least, he assumed it to be. Whenever he took a sip, all he could taste was a sad bitterness. 

Bitterness and dirt. Bitterness and dirt and bile and blood.


	5. Another Husbandless Week

“Why are you asking?”

Alarith stood before Asper, eyeing her suspiciously. He was a lean elvhen man, older than she, but with the bright auburn of his hair and sharp cut of his jaw, he was far from being old. Before her question, he had been content to chat with Asper while he worked, arranging bottles on shelves and stacking barrels in corners. Now, however, his perpetually working hands were still. He leaned across the wooden counter and squinted at her, awaiting an answer.

“Curiosity, like always,” Asper responded easily. “This is not the first time that I have asked about the Dalish, nor will it probably be the last.” She grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “Isn’t it natural for us youth to be curious? Haven’t all of us dreamed of running away to the forest and joining one of the clans?”

Alarith let out a breath of air, almost a chuckle. “Most of us, yes. But that is before we understand that we have our own roles to play here. And you, friend, are not exactly a part of that youth anymore.”

Asper raised her eyebrows and feigned mild offense. “Excuse me? I may not be fresh out of the gates, but I’m still in my prime.” She held up a firm fist to emphasize her point.

“Exactly,” Alarith said. He gestured towards the whole of Asper. “You _are_ in your prime. A young adult who has better things to do than chase legends and fairy tales.” 

“Ah, but it’s not just a legend, is it?” She wagged a finger. “You know that better than anyone.” 

Everyone in this town knew Alarith’s tale. He fled from Tevinter with his family, a place where they treated elves even poorer than they did here. On Alarith’s way to Denerim, his caravan was assaulted by ruthless bandits. Of his parents and brother, he was the sole survivor. 

The only reason he wasn’t slaughtered with the rest of his family was because of them. 

The Dalish. 

At the time of the attack, a band of Dalish hunters had been scouring the woods nearby. They heard the clanging swords and cutting screams and came to investigate. They were too late to save the others, but they had arrived just in time to save him. 

When Asper was small, Alarith had vividly enacted every detail of how he’d been rescued. The bandits didn’t know that the Dalish had arrived until they were already upon them. They appeared like they had been hiding in the wind itself, showering arrows upon the shems as gracefully as the falling leaves. Within minutes, none of the thugs were left standing. The hunters naturally began to scavenge the caravan, believing it to be emptied, yet when they came across Alarith, only a quivering boy at the time, they left his and his family’s belongings untouched. He was an elf after all. He was kin. They guided him towards the nearest road, gave him a portion of their lunch, and left him at the edge of the forest. A wagon came by within a few hours and provided him a ride to Denerim. He never saw the Dalish hunters again. 

He settled into a life of mercantilism in the capital, but sometimes, at night, he would ponder about traveling that wooded path once more—just to see a glimpse of them. He couldn’t, of course. He had a home here. But it didn’t stop him from dreaming.

Asper had always adored the story. Although she claimed that the Dalish were not fairy tales, she certainly used to think that they were. The Dalish were what all elvhen children in the alienage dreamed of at night. They were strong, they were brave, and they lived free from the chains of human society. They probably knew more about elvhen history than all of the alienage elders put together. 

She had memorized every myth and rumour, even the most ridiculous. They said that the Dalish could shoot better than any of the king’s archers, and that they could run faster than a flowing stream. They said that they could speak fluently in the ancient tongues. They said that they never spent more than a month in one place, as to make sure no savage shems could track them. They said that they didn’t believe in the Maker, instead worshipping their own pantheon of elvhen gods and goddesses. 

Elves! As _gods_! It was absolutely sacrilegious. No wonder the Chantry despised them. Humans couldn’t even stand Shartan being mentioned in the Chant anymore.

Everything about the Dalish was pure, beautiful blasphemy. With such stories fueling her hopes and dreams, it was inevitable for her to want to be like them. The Dalish inspired her to fight, to rebel, to protect what was important to her no matter the personal cost. The Dalish had been her _champions_. 

Mama had loved the Dalish too. At night, she used to whisper that her own mother had been one of them. After giving birth to Adaia with a city man, Asper’s grandmother felt the trees calling her back; she had no choice but to return home, leaving nothing but a dagger and a book in her stead. Asper would sometimes get frightened, afraid that her mother would feel the same urge and leave too, but Adaia would only kiss her cheek and tell her that she would never do such a thing. Besides, if Mama was the daughter of a Dalish, that meant that Asper had the blood too. Her mother then promised that if she ever did leave, she would bring her daughter with her. This assuaged little Asper’s worries, but she still made her mother swear that they would never actually go. It wouldn’t be fair to their father, after all.

Of course, Adaia had never been terribly good at keeping her promises. She ended up leaving Asper and her father behind after all.

Alarith leaned back on his heels and clicked his tongue. “You should not take a story that I told you when you were a child so seriously.”

“I see. So you lied, then?” Asper challenged. “It was just another wild fable of yours, yes? You were never saved by the Dalish?”

He let out another stream of air, creating a sort of whistling sound with his teeth. “Of course I was saved by them. I am no liar. But the true story is not nearly as whimsical as I made it out to be.” He rubbed at his temple. “They were looting the caravan that they had just saved, remember? I watched as they took the coin purses from my parents’ corpses. Ah, but I always glanced over that part, didn’t I?”

“It would have been foolish to let all of those supplies go to waste,” she immediately defended. “Besides, they gave them back when they found you, didn’t they?” Asper crossed her arms, trying to make herself look as stubborn and steadfast as she could. “I know that the Dalish are not the perfect heroes that the children always make them out to be. Of course I know that. I just want to know a little more.”

Alarith placed both of his palms on the counter, shifting his weight to lean in. “Yes, but _why_ do you want to know more? You are too busy a woman to interrogate a poor merchant for mere _curiosity_.” He leaned in closer. “Do you want to know what I think?” She was prepared to say no, but he didn’t give her the chance. “I think that you are trying to find them. I think that you are trying to run.”

She was undeterred by his close proximity, knowing his bluffs when she saw one. With both of her hands flat on the smooth wood, Asper mirrored Alarith’s pose. “And if I am?”

Alarith sadly smiled, barely showing his teeth. “Then you are just like I was at your age.” His age? They were barely four years apart. “Like me, but with one crucial difference. I knew when to stop chasing ghosts and daydreams. But you? You will die trying to find it. Fool.”

“No,” she answered sharply, “The difference will be that I may actually succeed. Coward.”

The two of them held their hard glares for half a minute, neither willing to back down. They drew closer, forcing them to squint to keep each others’ faces in focus. There was a tension in the air, heavy enough to weigh down a scale.

And then, just like that, it was gone. 

Alarith suddenly chuckled, pulling out of his bent position. Asper followed suit, allowing a few trickles of laughter to break through her ornery facade. 

“Alright, alright, no more of this little game,” he conceded. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? You’ve always been such a stubborn little brat.”

They both grinned brazenly. They knew better than to ever take the other seriously. She had been purchasing from his store since he first opened it as a struggling adolescent. At some point, she even worked there. Hell, Alarith had been the one to first teach her how to pick a pocket. She had always known him to be an incorrigible scoundrel.

“What, do you think you’ve changed either, penny pincher?” Asper threw back, relaxing against the counter. “You still love to flaunt your little childhood adventure, even if you say otherwise. It’s the only thing that makes you interesting. Now that we’re older, you just give it a more dangerous edge.”

He laughed again. “Perhaps, but you will never get me to admit it. It's not my fault that merchant life is rather dull in comparison.” Alarith turned from Asper, once again busying himself with stocking the shelves behind him. The shop loosened back into its casual, familiar atmosphere. He spoke as he picked up a tin can of what appeared to be dried vegetables, the smile still evident in his voice. “Now that you’re a free woman, I suppose it doesn’t matter whether or not you go off on some godforsaken quest. I don’t know why you’d risk it, though,” he said honestly. “Your father would flay you alive if he ever found out. Wandering around the Brecilian forest like some fae hunter? You would be locked inside the house for weeks.”

Asper let her head rest on her hand, the flesh of her cheek pressing upward and making her right eye to partially close. “I’d like to see him try. Besides, who said that I wouldn’t be taking them with me, smartass?”

Alarith clucked his tongue. “Now now, I’ll let the first one slide, but insulting someone you’re trying to get vital information out of isn’t a very effective tactic.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from running your mouth before.” She tried to smirk, but she forgot to lift her head up, making it lopsided.

“Maybe I’ve matured a little.” Asper snorted. He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Or maybe I just want you to lay down the facts and tell me the truth.”

She withdrew from the counter and rose back to her normal height. “Come now, Alarith,” she puffed. “Since when did we go around telling each other the truth?”

“Since you asked me for it in return. You’re the one who wants the map.”

Asper crossed her arms again, wrapping them around her wiry frame. She had to join her family at the service soon. She didn’t have time for long-winded explanations, especially ones she wasn’t quite willing to give. “You know well enough why. The whole alienage is still chittering about it.” 

Her cancelled wedding. Her failed marriage. The families had attempted to diffuse the situation quietly, but it didn’t matter. It seemed that no matter what race, elvhen or human, people loved a good rumour.

Alarith turned to face her. “Yes, yes. The wedding. But you’ve gone through horrible and embarrassing things before. In fact, I can remember them all very clearly.” He blew off a coating of dust from one of the cans. “You’ve been caught by the guards for fisticuffs, found asleep at the bottom of a dumpster, and fined for flirting with too many of the barmaids. I can remember more that are even worse. Since when has a little humiliation shook you?”

Since said humiliation put her familys’ well-being into jeopardy.

She had a discussion with her father a week after the incident. He informed her that he had exhausted all attempts at finding her another husband. Nothing was coming to fruition. Even though the cancellation of her and Haras’ wedding was blamed on life circumstances, gossip still spread. All of the other bachelors of her age and social status were deterred by the retraction of Haras’ offer, thinking that he had noticed something terribly wrong with her when he came to Denerim. Idiots. Even though their suspicions were technically correct, it didn’t give them the right to brush her father off like that. Surely someone, somewhere, had to believe their story. They had to.

Although she had tried to act cool upon asking for the Dalish’s whereabouts, Asper was disturbed by her current situation. She knew that joining the Dalish was an improbable, unrealistic idea. She knew this, but she still needed to know at least one escape route, one alternative in case her situation went from bad to worse. She wouldn’t be able to sleep at night otherwise.

For the last few months, her life had been clearly laid out in front of her. She would marry, quit her job at the Pearl, spend more time with her family, have a few kids, and live a generally content if not utterly dull life. Could she have actually withstood such a simple existence? Perhaps. Although her flying fists and tomboyish attitude seemed to say otherwise, she liked the idea of having a family. Despite common misconceptions, becoming a mother did not suddenly cause all of a woman’s personality to leak out of her. She would not lose her sharp tongue or fighting spirit by having a child. Her own mother was a testament to that. 

Asper was not opposed to the concept of having a husband (or wife, but that was even less likely), especially if it meant making life easier for the rest of the family. The problem was whether or not she could even find one. There was a traitorous tongue in the alienage. Someone had already informed Haras of her place of employment; if lips were as loose as they had proven themselves to be, word would travel outside of the alienage soon. She had to marry now. Otherwise, she may never marry at all. Otherwise, she would live her life as a spinster, desperately selling herself to make ends meet. Otherwise, she would be a disappointment to the Tabris name.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Since I realized that I might not want to get married off to some random man,” she replied. This was the reason why many flighty young women tried to run off and join the Dalish. It was a believable answer as any.

Alarith looked her up and down dubiously. “You haven’t had a problem with having an arranged marriage since you were fourteen,” he pressed. “Why now? Why leave the only home you’ve ever known?”

“Well,” Asper noted, “the wedding being called off got me thinking. I was disappointed that Haras rejected the union, sure, but I discovered that a part of me was actually relieved. Now that I have experienced what it’s like to have my own freedom again, I am hesitant to give it away. I want a back-up. Just in case everything turns south. For security.” She tapped her fingers on the counter. “You’re a merchant. You understand collateral, don’t you?” 

While she was oftentimes a spinner of lies, what she said was not entirely deceitful; she had indeed felt a sort of relief after Haras cancelled their betrothal. It definitely wasn’t a strong enough feeling to convince her to drop everything and run away to the woods, but it was the only part of the truth that she was willing to give. He could only guess at her other reasonings.

She knew that Alarith was beginning to realize this. He nodded. “I see. And you’re not going to say any more, are you?” Asper shook her head. “Alright then,” he acquiesced, “I suppose I'll have to be content with that answer. It's more than I would have expected, actually.”

“So…?” She was starting to tire of this little charade of his. She didn’t have much more time to be playing around, and both of them knew that he would eventually comply.

He sighed. “...I’ll give it to you.”

“About damned time!” Asper snipped, letting her arms fall to her side. “It took you long enough. And here I thought I’d have to bring out the sniffling.”

“Maker,” he bleated sarcastically, “_please_, anything but that.”

Alarith began to rifle through his desk in the corner of the room. Once again, his back was turned towards her. She realized what a shame it was that she felt so platonically towards the man. Any other elf would have taken the time to admire his strong, youthful figure. Alas, that was the plight of being childhood friends. It didn’t help that her job seemed to make her desensitized to all bodily anatomy, attractive or otherwise.

When he turned back, he had a small scroll in his hands. “Here it is.” He offered it to her, yet when she reached for it, he held up a single halting finger. “But know that I’m only giving it to you to humor you,” he asserted. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped. Everyone needs a way out. We all need to feel like we have some semblance of control.”

She had forgotten how well Alarith was able to read her. She bobbed her head and took the map, carefully rolling it into her satchel. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She grinned at him. She knew that it wasn’t the only map of the Brecilian Forest that he had made, but it still meant something for him to be giving it away. She didn’t have many people here that she could still safely call her friend, but she was glad that Alarith was one of them. “It’s good to know that you’re still just a softie.”

Alarith grimaced a little. “Please. I didn’t become the only shem-recognized merchant in the alienage by being ‘soft’. You’re just a special circumstance.” This statement only made Asper grin wider. “Besides, I trust that you won’t actually be such a fool as to act on this ludicrous idea of yours. This place is your home. Both you and I know that.” He gestured towards the entryway. “Now go. Before I change my mind.”

“Too late.” She hitched the handle of her bag further up on her shoulder. “Even if you did, I could just blackmail you to get it back.” A devious expression spread onto her face. “I think that the guards would be very interested in the little merchant elf that’s been getting all those smuggled goods in the city.”

Alarith laughed roughly. “Yes, and I’m sure they’d also be very interested in the little redheaded bruiser that’s been his accomplice all these years.” He motioned towards the door again. “Now shoo. Your terrible stink might scare away my customers.”

Asper gave him an unamused look, but she conceded to his request. She had to hurry off to church anyhow. Waving goodbye, she fled outside and back onto the alienage streets with her acquired treasure safely hidden away.

Asper wasn’t a particularly religious person; in fact, truth be told, she sometimes doubted that the Maker even gave a damn. Yet despite her lack of faith, she still attended the weekly sermon. It had been a tradition since Asper could first remember. Even her mother, who seemed to have held the same doubts in her faith as Asper did, had trained her of the importance of regularly attending church with her family. It was less to do with the conviction of religion and more to due with a sense of community.

Asper made it to the Chantry in the barest nick of time. The service had just started. Thankfully, Shianni had saved her a seat on one of the pews. Soris and her father sat closer to the front, separated from her and her cousin. Her father always preferred sitting close.

Like usual, Mother Boann was the one leading the service today. She was the only priest that volunteered to preach during the elvhen hours. When she was busy with other services or away for duties, the other Sisters practically fought each other to not be the one stuck with the task. The Maker is all-loving, her ass.

As hypocritical as it was for the Chantry to set up specific times that elves could pray, she was glad that they did. The alienage had their own temple for awhile, but it had been burned down years ago when some shems discovered their statuette of Shartan. Some of the elderly offered their homes to hold services in, preaching pieces of the Chant of Light by heart, but it wasn’t enough to fit everyone. It was Mother Boann that had organized specific times for the elves to come to her Chantry and practice their rites. At least until their own sanctuary was rebuilt, anyway. Based on the current direction city taxes were flowing, it wouldn’t be any time soon.

It wasn’t that they were forbidden to come during other times. They would just be expected to stand in the back. While some of the alienage’s residents would argue that the impudence was worth proper prayer, many others felt insulted by the practice. They came to be accepted by the Maker, not judged by his followers. Before Mother Boann’s decree, a large portion of the the alienage had stopped attending any sort of service altogether. Asper supposed that was why Mother Boanna was allowed her edict. Although many Andrastians thought that the Maker shined his light a little dimmer on elves, it still did shine. The church wasn’t about to give up an entire population of possible donations, elvhen or otherwise. 

It seemed that the sermon today involved going over man’s corruption of the heavens. Although it was a lecture that all of them practically knew by heart, she understood why it was touched upon so often. This specific canticle explained one of the fundamental reasons the Maker had abandoned them all. If that wasn’t worth repeated performances, then nothing in the Chant need be. 

_“And so is the Golden City blackened, with each step you take in my Hall.”_

Mother Boann’s voice was light and pleasant, directly conflicting with the ominous wording of the chant. She was the only preacher Asper had ever heard that made the Canticle of Threnodies sound like a warning rather than a direct punishment.

_“Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.”_

Asper tried to pay attention to the sermon, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts contained. Although the idea of fleeing to join the Dalish seemed laughable, she couldn’t help but entertain the notion. There was something about it that made it glisten in her mind, and her holy surroundings only seemed to inspire the line of thought. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if the cancelled wedding was a sign—from the Maker, from fate, from the elvhen pantheon that her heroes praised. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She only knew that her life was quickly approaching a turning point. She could feel the precipice of change, like the smell of rain on an evening wind. For better or for worse, things could not remain the same for long.

Perhaps her childhood dreams had finally come to a culmination. The number of times she had planned to escape to the forest as a shameless youth was uncountable. She had once even gotten as far as packing her bags. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was just in her blood.

A man coughed directly behind Asper’s head, thrusting her back into reality.

_“You have brought Sin to Heaven, and doom upon all the world.”_

Asper gazed down at her hands. 

She clenched them tightly, then splayed them as far as they would spread. 

Her fingers were long and calloused, working callouses, and her knuckles were raw and bruised. These were not the hands of some regal Dalish hunter. They were the hands of an alienage city elf, hands of someone who had been beaten down and spat on their entire life. She couldn’t read the breeze or navigate by the stars. She couldn’t make leather from hide or pray in the ancestral tongue. And she couldn’t expect a group of random people to take her entire family under their wing, fellow elves or not. Although she had joked otherwise with Alarith, if she actually left, she would have to leave alone. Unacceptable.

Besides, no one even knew if they were still out there. Alarith had been rescued years ago. For all that she knew, the clan had been exterminated since then. Although gaining the map from Alarith seemed like a step in the right direction, it wasn’t enough to form any cohesive plan. Times were not so desperate. Not yet.

Although inaction always made her stomach turn, Asper had to keep a cool head and wait to see what would happen. As much as she wanted to run away from it all, she couldn’t forget about her family. They came before all else. Until her presence in the alienage became a detriment to her family rather than a benefit, she had to force herself to stay, even if it meant becoming the town mockery. It was her duty.

From the seat beside her, Shianni nudged Asper with her shoulder.

“Hey you. Don’t seem to be prayin’ much, huh?”

Asper looked up at Shianni. Her cousin was smiling gently, but there was something off about her that she couldn’t quite identify. Still, she welcomed the change of topic. If she kept thinking about the future, she would make herself sick.

“Sorry,” Asper apologized, careful to keep her volume to a respectful whisper. “Just worried about finances. Rent. Groceries. All that.”

Shianni scoffed. “Don’t. Your dad worries enough for all of us together. Can’t you even find a little peace at church?” She reached for Asper’s hand. Asper let her. “You haven’t listened to a single thing that's been said, have ‘ya?”

“You got me,” she shrugged. “What can you expect? I’ve never been too good at prayer.” She carefully nudged Shianni back. “Remember when I fell asleep during our lesson about traitor Maferath? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sister Theohild so red.”

Shiannia giggled, a little too loudly to be appropriate. A few scolding stares were thrown in their direction. “Of course I remember! Uncle Cyrion wouldn’t let you go out for weeks! We never did end up finishing that lesson, ‘ya know.”

Asper began to reply, but stopped herself. Shianni was being her sweet, usual self, but there was something wrong with her voice, her composure. It was almost as if... Hm. A suspicion entered her mind. She leaned closer to her cousin, her eyes narrowing. She sniffed. 

Her nose was filled with a pungent, acrid scent.

“Shianni,” she hissed, “why can I smell _liquor_ on your breath?”

Shianni smiled at her lazily. “That didn’t take you long at all.”

Asper yanked her hand away from hers. She glared at her, giving her the sternest expression she could muster. “Shianni, we’ve talked about this,” she whispered harshly. “You said you wouldn’t do this anymore!”

“And I don’t! Promise. This is a spe-cial occasion.”

Shianni giggled again. More hard stares. Her father turned his head back towards the two, clearly disapproving of their interruption. Asper gave a small, apologetic wave. She turned back towards her apparently drunk cousin.

“What could be so special as to excuse you drinking at _ten in the morning?_” Asper asked fretfully. Shianni was an adult woman and could do as she pleased, but she had always been one to be easily tempted by drink. She had gotten over the worst of it during adolescence, but every once in awhile, the habit would re-emerge. Most of the times, Asper tried to be understanding (Maker knew that she’d give into her own bad habits every so often), yet she struggled to pinpoint what could have driven her younger cousin back to the bottle.

“Ask my boss,” Shianni simpered. “Ah, wait. That’s not right. Ex-boss. Hafta get used to that still.”

Asper could physically feel the frustration swell up inside of her. She was starting to get a headache. “Shianni. Please,” she pleaded uselessly, “_please_ don’t tell me that you were fired again.” If their finances had been tight before, they would be absolutely cutthroat now. She would have to work double shifts to make up for the lost income, no doubt.

Shianni leaned onto Asper and curled her arm around hers. Her smile had faded, instead turning into something more pensive. “Not m’fault,” she slurred. “The shem bastard beat on one of the elvhen waitresses. I couldn’t just watch. I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have either.”

Damn her cousin’s sense of justice. Although it usually made Asper proud, at times like these, she wish that she hadn’t taught her little cousin to be so… violently righteous. 

Shianni’s volume had grown steadily as she spoke, causing Asper to grasp at her cousin’s wrist as an attempt to remind her of where they were. At the rate that she was going, Mother Boann herself would question their little disturbance. Asper pulled their hands up to her own collarbones and interlaced their fingers. She dropped her voice, low and serious. “Shianni. I know. But one of these days you’ll get arrested. Or worse.”

“So?” Shianni asked. “You get in trouble all the time. You’ve been arrested too. You don’t take nothin’ from no-bo-dy,” she declared, enunciating each syllable. “You don’t have to be the only one fighting it, ‘ya know. I can fight for good, too. Like you!”

The church could surely make out most of their conversation by now. At least the Mother hadn’t stopped preaching. Asper considered making an excuse and wheeling her cousin outside, but that would only cause more of a scene. She cursed her rotten luck. Of all of the days for Shianni to have a personal epiphany, it had to be when she herself was already nearing mental exhaustion.

“Shianni,” Asper murmured, hoping that lowering her voice would cue her to do the same. “I only fight when it makes sense to. You have to pick your battles. If I spat at every shem that disrespected me or our kin, I would have been executed thricefold by now. You know that.”

Shianni looked down, suddenly quiet. She nodded, not answering, but Asper’s heart plummeted when she saw tears forming in her cousin’s eyes. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to be more worried about causing a public scene and embarrassing her father, or about Shianni’s apparently precarious emotional state. As usual, Shianni won out. Asper couldn’t stand it when she cried. Worse still, she had been the one to cause it. Had she been too callous? She must have been. 

“Shh… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she promised. “I’m just worried. I’m worried about you. Please don’t cry, Shianni.” She felt like they were children again, comforting Shianni after she tumbled down the hill and scraped her knee. If this were anyone else, she would have told them to suck it up until the service was over. Yet this wasn’t just anyone. This was Shianni, and she had been fired, and she was crying, and she was pitifully drunk. She was deserving of the exception.

“No, I’m sorry,” her cousin warbled. “I know. I know I shouldn’t have…” Suddenly, her cousin let out a single, broken sob. Oh, Maker. Shianni clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. All heads turned towards them, including Soris’ and her father’s. Mother Boann stopped talking and inspected them concernedly. Apparently Asper didn’t have to wait until her father and the rest of the alienage found out about her brothel work—her family could be known as the unstable outcasts right now. Giddy.

Cyrion, her father, immediately stood from his seat. He brusquely walked through the center lane until he came upon the two elvhen women. After bowing slightly to the rest of the church and muttering a respectable excuse, he lead Shianni out through the doors. Asper and Soris trailed bashfully behind. She hated humiliating her father like this. He was already going through enough as it was. 

They walked around the corner of the church, into an alley where nothing resided except mice and bins of rubbish.

It wasn’t like them to expose personal family drama. They were all adults here. They knew better than to cause a commotion, especially in a space that the alienage had to work to be allowed in. Asper couldn’t be upset at Shianni, though. No, she was only disappointed in herself. She had completely failed at placating the situation. She could rile up nearly anyone within the span of a few minutes, but calming them down was another matter entirely.

“Can you two please explain what happened in there?” Cyrion questioned sternly. Asper’s father had always been a kind and even-tempered man. He was soft in his punishments and even softer in his praise. He wasn’t, however, a pushover. “Why were you crying, Shianni?” he further inquired, directing his question towards Shianni.

Her cousin’s face resembled the color of cherries as she answered. “I… may’ve gotten started a little early on my con-dole-ment…” she replied honestly, nearly tripping over the last word. “See…” She swallowed. “Kilner fired me yesterday.”

In the background, Soris swore. Her father ran a hand over his face. The motion finished at his chin, which he held in exasperation. “Shianni…” he said weakly. “What… what did you do this time?”

Shianni’s brows furrowed. “Nothin’! I mean. Somethin’. But it was for a good reason, Uncle Cyrion! He was practically assaultin’ her! I hadta’ do somethin’!”

“He was hurting one of the other girls,” Asper quietly explained. The parallel of Shianni’s defense compared to her own protecting of her coworkers was discomforting. She worked hard so that Shianni could be spared from having to make decisions like that. Still, she supposed couldn’t shelter her cousin away from everything. 

Shianni nodded. “Exactly. So I stopped it.”

Cyrion sighed, the kind of sigh that only a man who has been through far too much can muster. “I... understand,” he said, accepting Shianni’s reasoning. 

Although Asper felt bad for her beloved cousin, she was irked by her father’s easy forgiveness. She did not have the kind of authority to properly instill a lesson to her cousin, at least not in the current sort of situation. Her father, however, did. He just never used it. No wonder they all ended up being insurgents. Well, all of them except Soris, anyway. He was the only one who knew how to keep his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry.” Shianni linked her hands together. “I really am.”

“I know.” Cyrion gently took her cousin by the arm. “I know that you are. And I know that I am partially the reason you’ve grown up to have such distinct sense of justice.” His eyes flickered towards her and Soris. “Why _all_ of you do. I’ve had to bail Asper half a dozen times by the time that she was your age.” Asper made a noise in her throat. He nodded and reaffixed his attention to Shianni. “I do not blame you for what you did, but you should try to find a better way to approach your problems. None of us want you getting hurt. And you cannot give into bad habits just because you are upset. Do you understand?”

With her father’s previous acceptance of her job loss, it would have been insolent to deny him. “Yes,” Shianni answered. “Yes, I understand. I won’t do it again.”

Cyrion took a few steps forward, allowing Shianni to shift her weight onto him. As slight as she was, her father was no young buck. Asper hurried to position herself under her cousin’s other shoulder. Her father smiled at her, while Shianni murmured an embarrassed thank you. Although the proximity of the three would look odd, it wouldn’t look as suspicious as an old man seemingly dragging a young woman out of a church. With their bearings regained, the four elves began to walk towards the alienage gates.

This morning was too much for Asper. No, this entire month had been. Her fiance had rejected her, she had to remploy at the Pearl, she considered running away to join the Dalish, and now her baby cousin was found drunk at church because she had been dismissed from yet another job. Her life had been chaotic _before_ all of these recent events occurred. With these newest additions, she had little idea of what to do. She just wanted to sleep.

Once they got home, Shianni collapsed into bed almost immediately. Before Asper or her father could attempt to impose any more sage words of advice, she had fallen unconscious like a wet thumb snubbing a candle. As much as Asper desperately wished that she could join her, she still had to go to work today. Both of them. Now that Shianni wouldn’t be getting a full paycheck this month, she couldn’t afford to shirk any hours.

Time at the medicine shop seemed to crawl by. At one point, Asper had to move all of her working tools into a room without a clock, just so that she would stop checking the hands every five minutes. If Dilywyn noticed anything wrong, she didn’t say anything.

The Pearl was even worse. Although the hours went by much faster, it was only because a group of rowdy drunks had decided to show up halfway through her shift. She spent the rest of her time babysitting them and making sure that none of them broke anything or hurt anyone. It was difficult to talk with the other workers, even Sanga. They had all pitched in to purchase her the ironbark comb as a goodbye present, as they believed that they would never hear from her again. Now that she wasn't leaving, however, the gift seemed like a shared regret. If she could give it back she would, but the traveling merchant who had sold them the comb had long moved on. They would only be able to resell it at a fraction of the purchasing price. 

It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t told anyone that she was getting married. She hadn’t asked anyone for some foolish, stupid, racist, ridiculous gift.

When the clock chimed the end of her shift, she nearly tore through her ears with how hastily she clasped on her earrings. This wasn’t a night that she could handle even a minute overtime. Even the few seconds to clean up made her head feel like it would burst.

She had planned to head straight home. That didn’t happen.

Once she was a few blocks away from the brothel, she was overcome with a familiar instinct. Although she should know better, she gave into it. It was that sort of night. Repercussions be damned.

Nearing the cobblestoned corner of a building, Asper began to climb. The motions were practiced, easy, almost nostalgic. Whenever Asper had been particularly distraught as a child, she would climb atop the roofs and look out at the vast city lights. Most of the times, the open sight of the sky and the clear air would be enough to calm her down. Normally it was atop the houses of the alienage, but right now, she wasn’t going to be picky. She wouldn't be caught, knowing to keep herself out of the moonlight as she climbed—only her eyes were visible from within the roof’s thick shadows.

Asper made it to the top of the building. Light steps would be mandatory. Although most people couldn’t tell if someone was climbing a stone wall, wooden roofs were much more telling. She crept across the mainframe, her head still pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. It hurt.

It hurt. 

Without thinking, she suddenly broke into a sprint.

She felt the cold wind biting at her skin and the dead weight of her satchel dragging behind her. All of basic logic would tell her that what she was doing was resoundingly dumb, but she didn’t care. She needed to run, to move, to do anything that would get this hot, sickly feeling out of her head.

She was sure that most of the houses’ residents were able to hear her, but she was moving too fast for it to matter. The homes were tucked far enough away into the city that it was doubtful that any passing guard would spot her, and the houses were near enough to each other that the leaps in between barely broke her stride. 

It felt good to run. She hadn’t been able to see the moon this closely in so long.

Finally, Asper came upon a dead end. The path of houses stopped there; if she went any further, she would be in sight of the garrisons. Clutching her calves with her hands, she bent her entire body forward and panted heavily. It had been too many days since she had done something like that. Her muscles would start to erode if she didn’t move more. She just hadn’t had the time to exercise lately.

She sagged down onto the stone hip of the building. The pulsing wasn’t as bad now, but the hurt was still there. Gods, it _hurt_.

Asper put her head between her legs and retched. Nothing came out, but it was enough to make her knees shake. She stifled a cough with her arm, willing her body to stay quiet. Her guise of calmness was gone. The hysteria that had been building inside of her had finally broken through the surface.

For so long, she had known exactly what would happen. For so long, she had known exactly what to do. She was good, reliable Asper. Brave, confident Asper. Fair, protective Asper. Even if she was oftentimes erratic, she was predictable in that she could always take charge of every situation. She was a natural born leader. The world had been hers for the taking. 

Even when she was young, she knew the predetermination of her future. Not the whole thing, but a principal part. At some point, she would find someone, somehow fall in love, and would raise a family, just as her mother and father had. It wasn’t that she was romantic—it was simply what she had always been taught. Even while she rejected most advances from her peers and got into fistfights every other week, she had figured that her life would one day lead to the sound of wedding bells, shining smiles, and a warm figure next to her in bed.

It had never been her dream. No, she had dreamed of being a revolutionary rebel, of being a master thief, of being a great rogue like her mother. Settling down was always just one of those far-off inevitabilities.

Not anymore.

Her father still said that there was a chance, but she knew better than to be hopeful. There was no way they could pay enough for a husband to actually accept her. Not once they all found out where she had been. What she had done.

She should have never applied at the Pearl. Even if her family had been unable to make rent and were kicked out onto the streets, they could have found some other, cheaper place to live. It had all been because of her pride. She wanted to be able to take care of the family. She wanted to be able to protect them all. She wanted to prove something, to herself and to everyone else. It was all because of her fucking _pride_, and she would be paying for it for the rest of her life.

Although she was still relatively young, she was nearing the age for it to be uncharacteristic to be single. Besides, who knew if she could even bare children anymore, what with her physical strains during her time at the Pearl. She hadn’t thought about it before now, but it bothered her. It all bothered her. Even if she had never actively wanted a stupid wedding with stupid flowers and a stupid spouse, a stupid honeymoon or a stupid address or a stupid house, she felt like someone was ripping away something that she had been secretly promised. It wasn’t even the real thing that she cared about. She had never particularly respected the traditional lifestyle expected of her. Knowing her, she probably would have even come to hate it. 

It was just the concept of it all.

She would never be married. She would never be a mother. She would never have the gall to join the Dalish, but would never have the humility to quietly care for her father and Soris and Shianni for the rest of her life. Now she would have to find something completely new.

The nauseated feeling came back, and she rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. 

For the first time in years, she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to plan, or what to think, or what to say. Right now, it felt like she didn’t know anything. Not even the damp tile underneath her body felt real.

Clutching deeply into the roots of her hair, it took everything within Asper not to scream.


	6. Grocery Run

Although it had taken up to the beginning of their next contract, Zevran was finally able to catch Rinna alone.

Over the past few weeks, Zevran had tried to investigate all of Rinna’s activities and whereabouts. Unfortunately, the word to emphasize was ‘tried’. Although Zevran was a professional assassin trained in the skills of tracking, so was she. Whenever he thought that he had cornered her in the training room or trailed her to an evening meal, she would disappear without a trace.

Zevran had tried to restrain his doubts, but the phenomenon occurred too often for it to be mere coincidence. In the past, Rinna would welcome Zevran’s company, or pursue it purposefully. Now, it was almost as if she was actively avoiding him. He understood that sometimes people needed their own privacy, but he couldn’t conceive of any reason why their relationship dynamic would change so suddenly. They hadn’t had a quarrel or disagreement. She wasn’t attempting to garner a new relationship with a fellow Crow. With the information that he had on hand, her lacking presence didn’t make any sense.

While he still wasn’t persuaded that her reasoning was malicious, he could no longer deny that her behavior was bizarre. Taliesen had been right; Rinna wasn’t telling them something. Although she was a superb actor, she couldn’t hide her obvious discrepancies. She would go days without attending the dining hall. She would be found missing from the base for hours at a time, but then act like she had never left at all. She would tell them that she hadn’t received information about their next contract, but would add new papers to her locked drawers daily. Although she still conversed with him regularly, she never seemed to be fully there. For the first time since they were children, Zevran could sense that Rinna was lying to him.

It wasn’t until they boarded the carriage to their next contract that the two of them spent more than a few hours together. Although she socialized amicably during the ride, it was obvious that something else weighed heavily on her mind. Whenever Zevran wasn’t speaking directly to her, her eyes would careen towards the open windows, drifting out across the rolling fields and blue skies. Rinna had never been much of a daydreamer. That had always been his job.

It wasn’t only her temperament that was different—her physicality had changed as well. Her glowing expressions turned wistful and her full figure became fraught and frail. She curated isolation like museums kept artwork: often, and with the highest security. They had been in the city of Bastion for three days before Zevran was finally able to convince Rinna to come out of her room.

What befuddled him was how, out of all of his attempts, his method actually worked. He had tried everything back at the base; he invited her to weapons training, bookkeeping, paperwork loading, bar-hopping, and every other activity he could think of. Perhaps it was the place. Perhaps it was the timing. Or, most likely, perhaps it was simple, dumb luck.

They were going out to buy bread.

He hadn’t expected her to say yes. He had only offered out of habit, yet she had agreed within moments after he asked. It was an eagerness that was unbecoming of her current mood, an eagerness that he had been sorely missing. Despite her most recent issues with reclusiveness, she appeared minutes later outside of her door, clad in a breezy sundress that made Zevran nearly forget why he had asked her to accompany him in the first place. Although dark rings encircled her eyes, she was as lovely as ever. He had to mentally shake himself to stay focused on his current task. He was there to investigate, not ogle. 

Perhaps just a little ogling, then.

Offering an arm, Zevran led Rinna into the thick of town.

Although Bastion couldn’t compare to the regality of Antiva City, it was still one of the country’s main ports. Brick and clay buildings sprouted from the cobbled roads like great tree trunks, creating a forest of back alleys and boulevards to explore. Wares of every kind could be found in the numerous shops, exotic knicknacks carted from across the ocean. Although it was still early spring, Zevran was glad that he had opted for a light button-up. The sun shone unashamedly in the sky, not blistering, but pleasantly hot. 

Zevran breathed in the scene before him. They had begun their walk in relative silence, but he thought it was about time that it was broken. He was nothing if not a good conversation starter. 

“Does it feel good to finally be outside, my dear?”

Rinna blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“_Mi cara_,” Zevran stated openly, “you have been holed up like a rabbit these last few weeks. You may not have realized it, but you have not been out of your room since we first arrived.”

She looked up at the clouds, as if pondering what he had said. “Haven’t I?” she asked honestly.

He gave her an impassive look. “You have truly not realized it? I think that the innkeeper has begun to think that someone has died in there.” He grinned. “Especially with that _awful_ smell. Very unfortunate.”

It took a moment for her to understand his insinuation, but when she did, her expression was priceless. It thrilled him. “He thinks no such thing!” She swatted at him, some of her energy seemingly renewed out of exasperation. “And if he does, it is only because you two create such a stink that it has wafted into my room!”

“Oh, yes, blame the terrible, crude, uncivilized men. How stereotypical of you,” he simpered. “I think that I should be insulted, being piled into the same category as Taliesen. At least I wash my socks without being asked, yes?”

Rinna smiled at him, one of the first real ones he had seen in weeks. “You’re right. I couldn’t do you that kind of disgrace. You’re only mildly uncivilized, after all.” She tugged closer to his arm, brushing her shoulder up against his.

Zevran reveled in her touch. Although he had first withdrawn from contact, his body quickly began to crave it again. It was not often that he had to go this long without some form of physical intimacy, genuine or otherwise. He could have gone out and beguiled some wanting lad or lady, but he had been too focused on Rinna’s investigation to do so. It was starting to catch up with him.

They strolled across the path linked together like this; with their casual familiarity and close distance, any passerby would assume the two were lovers. While he usually tried to seem as undetached as possible while in a client’s location—it would be harder to seduce someone if the public thought him coupled—he couldn’t bring himself to care. This was the first moment of goodness that he’d had for weeks, and he wasn’t about to toss it away because of a simple precaution.

Instead of taking the most straightforward route to the bakery, Zevran set them upon a winding, touristic path. He pointed out particular shops and stalls as they walked by, hoping to set off some spark of curiosity within Rinna. The longer that they tarried during this chore, the longer he would have to figure out what she was up to… and the longer Taliesen would have to search her room. 

Fetching bread would usually take around twenty minutes. He was hoping to stretch it to at least an hour, perhaps even two if they sat down for a bite to eat.

“That bookstore is said to contain ancient Tevinter tomes!” Zevran exclaimed.

Rinna nodded.

“This liquor store claims that it has whiskey from the time of the Storm Age, but many locals believe it to be a scam.”

Rinna peered through the windows.

“Our innkeeper told me to stay away from this warehouse. Apparently, it is being used by lyrium smugglers!”

Rinna squinted at the door.

Distracting her was proving to be difficult. Although Rinna saw what he was speaking of, she did not truly _look_. The breakthrough of her earlier smile was fading quickly. Her expression was already turning flat and forlorn, her lips curving more downwards with every scenic location that Zevran mentioned. When he identified a particularly obnoxious-looking brothel, she pulled away from him entirely. She seemed to have noticed their close proximity, and the novelty of being out of her room was wearing off.

Their route was undeterred. If he did not do something soon-

“Ah,” Rinna remarked, jogging ahead of him to point at a wooden kiosk. “There seems to be a bread stall right here! How fortunate for us!”

As sure as she had said, there was a man selling loaves of bread in a cart nearly a block ahead of them. 

“Oh. Yes.” Zevran strained from gritting his teeth. “How... very fortunate.”

For a second, he had half a mind to strangle the lad right then and there. Alas, he would not have an excuse for Rinna, and there were too many spectators. Besides, it was his fault for trying to elongate their trip by haphazardly going down random alleyways. It was only inevitable to come across another place that sold loaves. One was sure to find two things sold on every Antivan city street: fresh bread and cheap wine.

She was already upon the bread stall, her eyes flitting about the numerous options. Her gaze was methodological, mathematical; nothing like Taliesen’s approach, which would be finding the one with the loudest crunch. Zevran lengthened his stride to catch up with her. He reached out to take hold of her shoulder, halting her search.

“Must we stop at this one, though?” he asked her. “I was hoping that we could go to the bakery in the plaza.”

Rinna turned away from the cart, a tall, round loaf in her hand. “But why? Is something wrong with these?”

The man at the stall gave Zevran a steely eyeful, as if daring him to say that there was. 

Zevran smiled placatingly. “No, no, surely not! It is just…” Thank the Maker he had a premade excuse. He had been hoping to show her rather than tell her, but the particulars didn’t matter anymore. “...There is an apple torte there that I spied when we first rode past. It is apparently the pride of the establishment.” His hand moved down from her shoulder to gently take ahold of her hand. He almost expected her to yank it away, but she mutely allowed the gesture. “There is a café there as well. I was hoping we could try the torte with some coffees. A good idea, yes?”

This kind of recommendation was entirely like him. When their trio traveled, he was often the one to persuade his partners to stop at whatever little restaurant or shop that garnered his interest. He was all about new discoveries, and it had never caused much harm. Time was rarely of short supply. They usually finished their contracts with days, if not weeks, to spare. They were also rarely short on spending money, as the Crows rewarded their assassins well. If the Guildmaster was in a good mood, anyway.

Those little joys were what Rinna seemed to cherish with him the most. He always assumed that was one of the things that she liked about him.

Rinna looked at him thoughtfully. The switch was tangible. A small smile crept onto her lips, and the flicker of light that he had spotted earlier seemed to return. “No, mi caro. I think that it is an absolutely _splendid_ idea.” She returned the loaf back to the pile, careful to balance it back in its original place. The baker seemed grouchy from Zevran’s intervenience with her purchase, but he didn’t say anything. He supposed that the man was trying to act gentile in front of the lady. How chivalrous.

Rinna swept back to Zevran’s side, allowing her hand to stay within his. Another unexpected development. “You should have just said so before, Zev. You know that I would hardly pass up a chance for a drink and a sweet.”

If it had been a few months prior, he would have agreed with her. Before her odd behavior began, she would have taken Zevran up on any offer involving a café. Since then, however, she hadn’t agreed once. He was inclined to tell her this, but thought better of it. The more aware he seemed of her recent peculiarities, the more closed off she would likely become. He had to wait for the right time.

The two of them continued their journey towards the bakery. Now that Rinna seemed to have something to look forward to, her enthusiasm was renewed. She actually replied when Zevran spoke, and paid attention to the environment around her. He had no idea what had caused the shift. While apples were one of her favorite foods, he doubted that it was enough of a reason for her attitude to have changed so quickly. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it. Her constant little game of hot-and-cold had been giving him whiplash.

The bakery was no glittering spectacle, but it was the kind of establishment that one could tell had been passed down for generations. The brick was worn, the windows were patched, and the roof was made up of colorfully mismatched tiles, a clear indication of multiple repairs. Golden blossoms grew on a potted plant near the entryway, its vines hanging around the frame of the door.

Well, the least he could do was be a gentleman. Zevran stealthily plucked a bloom near the bottom and offered it to Rinna. He had expected another mute acceptance, but her response was much more than that. With another flashing smile, she kissed his cheek and tucked the flower behind her ear, the petals shining brightly against her dark hair. After nearly a month of naught a sign of romantic affection between them, it startled him.

It seemed that this new behavior would be giving him whiplash as well.

After they were seated and their orders were taken, Zevran was unsure of what to do. He had planned on striking a conversation about what she thought of their current contract, but now that would come across as stuffy and formal. He hadn’t prepared for the old Rinna to suddenly make a guest appearance.

“What drink did you order?” he asked.

Ah, yes. A decade of learning the art of persuasion, and that was what he was leading with. He was truly a master of his craft.

“Just a plain coffee,” she answered. He didn’t really expect anything any other answer. He had ordered the exact same. 

“Would you like me to pay for the two tortes?”

“Oh!” Rinna looked at him bashfully. “I only ordered one. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, so I thought we could share. Is that alright?”

While the conversation was absolutely dismal, he celebrated the small piece of information she had given him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for a running leap. 

“Yes, of course. I am only afraid that you will suddenly regain your appetite after the first bite, as usual, and steal away the rest of the plate.” He grinned at her, attempting to use nostalgia to his advantage. “But that brings up a rather good point. Why have you had such a loss of appetite as of late? All lovely ladies deserve to be showered in as many cakes and pastries as they wish!”

“_Sweet things for a sweet woman_”, Rinna recited, attempting to mimic Zevran’s voice. “I’ve heard that one before, Zev.”

He pressed his hand to his chest, acting offended. “Me? Reusing material? I see that calling me an uncivilized, smelly brute was not enough to sate your terrorizing needs. You wound me!”

“Good. Someone has to tie down that awful ego of yours.”

He had her smiling again, but there was still something undoubtedly _off_ about their interactions. It was as if the conversation was scripted, like a grade schooler reading words off of a notecard. It wouldn’t do at all. While he had technically taken Rinna out on this errand to give Taliesen time, he had his own set of prerogatives. If he was able to squeeze even a smidge of the truth out of his old friend, Taliesen might let up on his personal inquisition against her. Instead of it being solely her secret to bear, they could all feel its burden. As it should be.

“You are avoiding the question, my dear.”

Rinna let out a small sigh. “Does there have to be a reason? Perhaps I felt too bloated during our last contract and didn’t want to replicate the mistake.”

“Perhaps,” he repeated, “but both of us know that that is not the reason.” Zevran fiddled with his fork, spinning it idly in his hands. “I saw you in that dress. I do not think that corset could have been strung any tighter.”

“I am not hungry, Zevran. Do not read into it.” 

Was that a flash of frustration?

Good.

“Alright, as you wish,” he relented. “Then I will only discuss all of the other things, like your lack of sleep, or your self-isolation, or your tendency to avoid certain topics. Which would you like to begin with?” He was sure to keep a friendly tone, but his directness was clear. He was done avoiding what was obvious to the both of them. He was glad that this confrontation would be in a public setting. Harder to run away that way. Maker knows that she would do whatever she could to deny him a proper answer.

Rinna straightened in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable in her seat. He hated watching the twinkle fall from her face again, but it was necessary. “Zevran,” she muttered under her breath, “I have no need to discuss such things.”

“Ah, but I do,” he replied, pointing at her with his fork. “You have been avoiding the issue for awhile, my dear friend. I think it is quite worthy of discussion.”

She looked at him exasperatedly. “I thought we were here for breakfast. If I knew I would be interrogated, I wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

Zevran ignored the subtle sting of her words and pressed on. He couldn’t have her close up to him again, not quite yet. “If I was interrogating you, you would have cracked by now. I am simply encouraging friendly conversation. So?”

“Please, Zevran. Not here. Not now.”

“Then where? Then when?” he shot back lazily, as if this was just another one of their banters. “You may choose to believe it or not, but I actually do care about that fickle little thing called your well-being. An astonishing thought, I know.”

Rinna halted for a moment. She looked at him, surprised by the declaration. The three of them had always cared for each other, but they did not always display it openly. “That’s... all this is? You’re worried about me?”

“We both are,” he quickly added, careful to not give away too much about his personal concerns. “Taliesen and I have noticed how much time you spend in your room. How little you eat. How little you speak. It… you see, we are a unit. It is only natural that we want good for each other. For efficiency, and other things.” 

He wanted to show enough endearment to persuade her to talk to him, but he was unaccustomed to this much genuine sensitivity. He was the kind to flirt and fan up a good joke. Divulging to someone that he worried about them so much that he couldn’t sleep at night was not something he was particularly practiced at. 

Rinna’s defensive expression began to dissolve. “I... I apologize. I was not aware I was being so obvious.” Her obliviousness actually made him laugh. It was brief, but she noticed. “What? What is that for?”

“My lovely Rinna,” he chuckled, “You have been anything but subtle. When was the last time you drank with us, or sparred, or made passionate, life-changing love?” He smiled as softly as he could. “We were bound to notice some time.”

By the look in Rinna’s eyes, his method was working. Zevran knew that if he had tried to pry information from her directly, she would only draw further within herself. Working it from an emotional angle was proving to be far more successful.

Rinna sighed. “I suppose I have been a little antisocial lately…” Zevran raised his eyebrows at this. “Alright, yes, yes. Don’t look at me like that. I will admit it. I have been self-isolating. But it is for a good reason, I promise.”

“And that reason would be?”

“Zev,” she said earnestly. “I want to tell you. I truly, truly do.”

“Then tell me.”

Rinna turned in her seat so she was facing Zevran directly. She peered at him carefully, as if turning over the decision in her head. It seemed like she was actually contemplating it. Maker, he was close. She only had to tell him, and then all of this could be over. They could fix whatever she was worrying about, and then everything could go back to the way it was. No more secrets. No more lies.

She gingerly reached across the table. She took the fork out of Zevran’s hand and set it aside, then laced her fingers in between his. The sun above flickered between the clouds, casting a radiant scattering of light upon her face. The breeze made her hair gently play across her shoulders, and her sundress billowed at her feet.

At this moment, Zevran could, without question, say that Rinna was absolutely beautiful.

She looked down at their hands, then back up at him. Her lips parted, as if preparing to speak.

It was then that their waiter decided to show up with their order.

Rinna quickly drew away from Zevran. She tidied her hair and readjusted the blouse of her dress, smiling at their server and thanking him for the food and coffee. Once again, Zevran was filled with the urge to strangulate an innocent civilian.

Rinna clapped her hands together, all thoughtfulness gone from her face. “Enough of all that dreary talk! We have a torte to eat!”

“Rinna.”

“Zevran.” There was a pleading look in her eyes. “I will tell you. I promise. Just not today, understand? For now, can we just be two friends enjoying coffee together?”

He knew that the opportunity had been lost. He would not be getting anything else out of her today. The clam had snapped shut, and he did not want to upset her anymore than he already had. “Yes,” he assented. “We can just be that.”

The rest of their conversations were unfulfilling, ranging from mundane smalltalk to idle gossip. The apple torte was fantastic, as advertised, but he would never forgive the damned dessert for blowing his chance. It had taken him months to get this far, and it was a pastry that ruined it.

They finished their breakfast quickly, and were out the door within the half hour. As Rinna sat up, the flower in her hair fell to the ground. She did not notice, and just to affirm Zevran’s anguish, she accidentally stepped on it as she was walking out. He stared at it for a moment before stepping over it himself.

Zevran and Rinna were back at their inn by noon. She politely thanked him for the walk, and immediately strode up to her room and shut the door. It did not matter. His concerns were elsewhere. Although getting Rinna to talk had been a washout, he had successfully stalled for time. Surely Taliesen had been able to thoroughly go through all of her things. There was still a hope for some answers.

Zevran knocked before entering, as he and Taliesen shared a room. After identifying himself, Taliesen welcomed him in.

“So?” Taliesen asked dimly. “Did she say anything?”

Zevran shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. We did, however, share a… how do they say it? A ‘moment’.” He sat upon his bed. “She is hiding something, yes, but I do not think that it malignant. She still cares for us.”

“_Seems_ to care for us, you mean.”

The bitterness in Taliesen’s voice was striking. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You are not the only one trained in manipulation, Zevran.” His tone was sharp and spiteful. “We all are. Even Rinna. Especially Rinna.”

“But what does that mean?” he repeated.

His comrade’s words began to flow like rice spilling out of a slashed sack. “I can’t believe that we've been letting her get away with this—”

“Taliesen?”

“—we should have figured this out long ago, shouldn’t have been so sloppy—”

“Taliesen.”

“—she has been twisting us around her finger this entire time—”

“_Taliesen._”

The overflow stopped. Taliesen took a breath. “She did it, Zevran.”

“Did it? Did what?”

“She did exactly what I thought she did.” He reached for something beside him, then held out a single sheet of paper.

“This… what is this?” Zevran demanded. His thoughts were spiraling, falling further and further into a place he absolutely did not want them to be. “You were supposed to look for clues, not go stealing her paperwork! She will notice that you took this!”

Taliesen shook the paper in front of his face. “Because I know you wouldn’t believe me if you didn’t see it for yourself.” His gaze was hard, but truthful. “Read it.”

Zevran did as he asked, as much as he did not wish to. He cautiously took the paper from his hands. As soon as he had it, Taliesen collapsed onto his own bed, his fingers working rough circles into his scalp.

It was a letter, addressed to some politician. But not just any politician. It was the man that they had been tasked to kill. It was their contract.

This revelation launched Zevran into a desperate sprint through the rest of the letter, hoping for it to not be what he thought it was. Yet it was exactly what it seemed. It was a letter that Rinna had written to their current contract, the penmanship unmistakable. Its contents included the basic coded formalities, but none of it could hide from his trained eye. She was accepting a bribe from him, and a rather hefty one at that. In return, she would— 

He read over the sentence again, and then a third time, just to be absolutely sure. There was no questioning it. It could mean nothing else.

In return for the money, she would dispose of him and Taliesen.

Zevran threw the letter to the floor and clutched a hand across his mouth. He could feel the remnants of the coffee and torte lurch up in his throat, but he swallowed until the burning went away. Taliesen had been right all along. For months, Rinna had been planning their undoing. If they hadn’t found this letter in time, the two of them could have had their throats slit in their sleep within the end of the week.

Fear and misery and anger threatened to release. He tightened his grasp on his face, as if doing so could somehow keep it all from spilling out. He made an indescribable noise into his palm, something between a curse and a whine. After years and years of working together, training together, sleeping together, _being_ together, it had come to this. One of them was finally betraying the others. He thought that they could have been the exception, the one exception to the rule of the Crows. He thought that they could prove their masters wrong. Like always, he had only proven himself to be a fool.

Taliesen looked at him pityingly, and something inside him snapped into place.

Instead of allowing himself to fall apart, he pressed his pieces further in together, knotting deeply inside where nothing could touch them. There was no time to wail and moan about how unfair the world was, not if they wanted to survive. They had a traitor in their midst. Yes, a traitor. He actively distanced himself from the idea of it being Rinna, because it wasn’t. Not anymore. There wasn’t a Rinna. Only a threat to be eliminated. He couldn't stand to think of her as anything else, not until she was taken care of and he had time to process everything properly.

His hand fell, and he stood. So he had trusted her. It was an honest mistake. Most people would come to trust a childhood friend. It was a lesson that he would not soon forget.

When Zevran met Taliesen’s eyes again, all remorse had vanished from his face. The only thing left was cold, calculated awareness.

Taliesen rose to his feet. “Then you know what must be done.” 

It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Zevran replied, clenching a fist. 

“What we do best.”


	7. An Apple Pie a Day

It was almost inconceivable, but somehow, through some stroke of serendipity, Asper had the day off.

She had awoken to the usual church chimes. If she had a shift at the apothecary, she would be there by seven. Being able to sleep past dawn was uncommon for most morning jobs, but Dilwyn was insistent on opening the shop herself. It was sensible, as she and her husband lived in the rooms directly above the store, but Asper didn’t like her working the front desk all alone. There were too many threats in this city, too many people who would see an old elvhen woman selling expensive medicines and rob her for all that she’s worth. Or worse.

Today, however, Dilywyn had closed the shop for... her birthday. Or perhaps Gethon’s? Maybe an anniversary. Asper hadn’t quite caught on to what she was celebrating. Her mind had been a bit preoccupied with dreading the entirety of her future.

She didn’t have a shift at the Pearl tonight, either. Since the others had thought that she was quitting, they had trained a new girl to work the desk. She couldn’t blame them for being prepared, but it still made her bitter. Two years of her life she had given up to that place, yet with one slip-up, she was back to the bottom of the pecking order. Maker, at least they hadn’t assigned her the janitorial duties.

When she first started out, she could show up any night and try her hand at freelancing clients, but now the brothel had so many workers that there wouldn’t be enough spare rooms. Honestly though, she didn’t have to look for an excuse to not work tonight. After once believing that she would never have to go there again, her usual tolerance was lacking.

Asper had planned to wander town and ask around for odd jobs, but Shianni quickly put an end to that idea. Upon realizing that she didn’t work today, her cousin was adamant about Asper spending the day with her. What was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she could say no. Better yet, Soris was off too. For the first time in months, all three cousins could spend a day together. Other than Chantry-enforced holidays, it was a rare occurrence. 

At first, none of them knew what to do with themselves. They couldn’t go out in the streets and kick around a ball like they used to. They were much too old for that. Shianni suggested going to the market, but Asper knew that they would come back with some useless, expensive knickknack if they did. Making a trip to exclusively window-shop always ended in purchasing something, otherwise the trip would feel unfulfilled. Then Soris suggested that they bake something together, like they used to when Asper was still able to pinch outdated ingredients from her job. It was the best idea out of all of them, and would result in a nice surprise for her father when he returned from work. Besides, she felt bad about not accepting the cookies from Po. Even if she didn’t want them, she could have brought them home for her cousins. They deserved those little indulgences.

After scrounging around the kitchen, the three of them decided that apple pie was the best option. They already had all of the components, and each of them knew the recipe by heart. It was Adaia’s, after all.

Remembering, however, wasn’t nearly the same thing as doing. As soon as they began, complications arose.

“Soris. What are you doing?” Asper asked.

“What?” He looked up from his task of mixing the dry ingredients.

“Why did you light the stovetop?”

“To…” He hesitated. “To melt the butter?”

Asper sighed and moved to turn off the stove. “We’ve made dozens of pies together by now. Since when have we melted the butter for the crust?”

“Well, I was talking to Elva…”

Asper let out a bark of laughter. “Elva? Elva wouldn’t know good cooking if it came up and bit her on the ass!” She doused the flame of the stove. “Why are you spending time with her, of all people? She was always cruel to you in grade school.”

“She wasn’t!” Soris protested. Shianni loudly scoffed behind him, making his long ears go red. “I mean… Maybe she was a little rude, sometimes. But she’s better now. She got married recently, you know.”

“Oh, we know,” Shianni drolled. “She’d stop strangers on the street just to tell them. She wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“I’m just glad that the wedding didn’t happen here.” Asper returned to her bowl of peeled apples and picked up her knife. The blade cut into the fruit as if it was soft clay. “Making up an excuse to miss a wedding is so hard nowadays.”

Soris glared at her, but Shianni giggled. “Right! We used to be able to cough and sniffle a little and they’d keep us home so we didn’t get the other children sick.” She glanced pointedly at Sorris. “Now you need to… I don’t, break a leg or something.”

Soris’ glare deepened. “Hey! That isn’t my fault! I didn’t _ask_ to have a crate dropped on me before Nola’s wedding day!”

“Oh, we’re just teasing you.” Shianni laughed, nudging him in the arm. “You don’t have to be such a… a…” She took a breath and her grin widened. “....A Sore-ass.”

The nickname seemed to have crossed whatever threshold Soris had for dealing with his two cousins. He spun around to face his younger relative and pointed at her with his spoon. A fleck of flour landed on her nose. “Shianni! I told you not to call me that anymore!”

“That’s exactly something that a Sore-ass would say,” Asper bleated, causing Soris to turn back in her direction. Once again, flour whipped off the spoon in an arc, dusting the floor with white. “You’re making such a mess, too.”

“If I knew that this was just going to be a session of insulting me, I wouldn’t have agreed to help,” he grumbled. “You two always gang up on me.”

“Oh, is that the problem?” Shianni came closer to Asper and tapped her on her shoulder. “Hey. Hey Asper.”

Asper cocked her head. “What?”

Shianni smiled. “You’re a violent brute who doesn’t know the definition of hygiene.”

Asper smiled back, catching on. “Hey, Shianni. You’re a useless ex-waitress who only got tips because they felt sorry for your tiny, twiggy legs.”

“You’re a dirty knife-ear who was fired for contaminating all of the bakery with your icky elf germs.”

“You’re the owner of an ugly orange rat. Oh, sorry. My mistake. It appears to just be your haircut.”

“You’re an employee of a medicine shop, but half of the clients are there because you weren’t able to keep your man-hands to yourself. Must be why Dilwyn hired you.”

“You’re-” Asper couldn’t contain her laughter. “You’re so _stupid_.”

Shianni threw her arms around Asper, tugging her so that Asper’s back was against her front. “No, _you’re_ so stupid,” she said sweetly. 

“You're both asses,” Soris stated, wiping the flour from the ground with a ragged cloth. “Come on. The crust is ready to be rolled.”

“Let me!” Shianni skipped over to Soris, picking up the battered old rolling pin along the way. She smacked the pin against her palm, making a satisfying slap sound. “I make the perfect circle.”

“Probably the only thing you’re good at,” Soris mumbled.

Shianni’s eyes went wide and Asper gasped. 

“Soris!” Asper scolded. “Don’t be mean to your cousin like that!”

Soris’ gaze darted between the two of them helplessly. “Really?” he protested. “You two can insult each other all you like, but I can’t?”

“Precisely.” Shianni said. Asper nodded.

Soris let out a heavy breath and handed the ball of dough to Shianni, muttering words that Cyrion would have been outraged to hear in his house.

As the fervor in the room began to settle, Asper finished slicing and drying all of the apples. She preferred including three different types of apple in a pie, but two would have to do for today. At least they had some of the green ones. An apple pie without green apples wasn’t an apple pie at all. It was an abomination.

She hefted a cup of sugar into the bowl, making sure to coat all of the slices evenly. She then dragged a chair in front of a tall cabinet, ignoring Soris’ offerings to get what she needed for her. Leaning onto her tiptoes, she peered into the top shelf. The molasses was there, which she grabbed. There was something missing, however.

“Where’s the cinnamon?” Asper asked. Her head swiveled over her shoulder, catching the eyes of both her cousins.

“I don’t know,” Soris quickly replied. Too quickly. Her eyes narrowed.

Shianni shook her head at him. “Liar.” She took a step forward, as if a witness before a court. “He used it all up for his sleepy-time milks.”

Soris kneaded his face with his palm. “They’re not sleepy-time milks. It’s just milk that I happen to drink at night. You don’t have to make everything I do sound humiliating.”

“Yes. Milk that you heat over the stove, and stir in honey and cinnamon, and only drink when you can’t sleep.” Shianni smirked. “Sleepy-time milks.”

Asper leaned her back against the cabinet and crossed her arms. Maker, she felt so powerful standing up there, looking down on the two of them from the chair. Is this how human men felt all the time? No wonder they all had a superiority complex. This kind of perspective was addictive. 

“Honestly, I don’t care if Soris used the cinnamon to fertilize the garden. What matters is that we’re out, and that we need more.”

Shianni shrugged. “Why not just make the pie without it?”

Asper grunted in disbelief, and Soris looked at his cousin as if she had told him to hop on one leg on the roof. She loved this girl, but sometimes, she said the most foolish of things. That’s what happens when someone is reared on freehold education.

“I’ll go pick some up,” Soris suggested. “I used it, so I should be the one to buy it.”

“Yes. Right. Go do that,” Asper agreed.

Shianni shrugged again. “Alright. Be nitpicky, then. We’ll blind bake the crust while you’re gone.” How could she remember blind baking and not cinnamon? She was an anomaly.

After Soris left, the two women tried to busy themselves, but there wasn’t much they could do until the oven was to temperature. Asper was grateful for its heat. Although it was technically spring, the air was still frigid and dry.

She and Shianni made friendly conversation, but without Soris to tease, the source of their entertainment was gone. All that was left to do was dishes. They agreed that Shianni would wash, and, once finished, Asper would dry and store. The usual routine.

Asper absentmindedly stirred the apples, folding the thin slivers onto themselves. They didn’t need to be stirred, but she wanted to keep her hands moving. “So,” she began quietly, “Have you found any leads for a job?”

A bowl fell from Shianni’s hand, clattering in the sink. “Ah.” She bent her head down, as if closely inspecting the dish. “That really came out of nowhere, huh?”

She stopped stirring, tapping the spoon against the bowl to shake off any excess bits. “Not nowhere, no. It’s been a few weeks. I’m simply curious.”

As much as she adored Shianni, the family needed her to make an income. All of their lives were getting a little more expensive every day. Asper didn’t know whether it was the merchants or the lords or King Cailan himself to blame, but the current markets were brutal; even the Pearl was seeing a decline in clients. For the economy to be so unstable as to part men and women from their store-bought sex? There had to be some serious issues.

Shianni returned to scrubbing, although her strokes were explicitly harder than before. “Yes. I’ve asked around. I... was hoping for another waitressing gig. I’m good at that, and I have more experience than most of the other girls.”

“You know you might not get that choice,” Asper said softly. She wasn’t trying to harass her cousin, but she knew that she was the only one who would give her the pressure that she needed. Although it was less than ideal to bring it up during a day of recreation, she had to make sure that Shianni was trying. “I know that you like it, but it might be time to expand your options. You haven’t worked a different job since you were fourteen.”

The scrubbing became even harder. “I know.” Her shoulders went up to meet her jaw. “I know,” she repeated.

“I’m not blaming you for being fired,” Asper assured. She came up behind Shianni and laid a hand gently on her shoulder, just for a moment. “I probably would have done the same thing in that situation. But we always need more money. And I don’t like you being home alone all day. Not with all these-” She bit her lip and cleared her throat. 

“Not with all these bottles. Right?”

They hadn’t been able to sell back the liquor that was purchased for Asper’s wedding, so there was an abundance of wine and beer in the basement. Although she wanted to trust her cousin’s self-control, she still checked on the kegs and counted the bottles every morning, just to make sure none of them had been secretly opened. It wasn’t fair to be keeping that much alcohol in the same house as a recovering alcoholic. If it wasn’t so expensive, she would throw it all off a bridge. Anything, if it meant keeping Shianni safe.

“Yes,” Asper admitted. “I apologize. I didn’t mean anything by it-”

“No, no,” she interrupted. “It’s completely fine. Someone has to tell it to my face, and Soris and Uncle Cyrion certainly won’t.” She turned off the faucet, the dishes finished. “I’m keeping my options open. I promise.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Retrieving a towel from a drawer, Asper claimed the spot to Shianni’s left and began to dry the clean tableware.

Her cousin sighed and flicked water from her fingers. “I suppose I just wish I had more. You know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sick of jumping from one respectless job to the next. I want a career. I want a purpose.” Shianni hoisted herself up onto the counter to the right of the sink. She kicked out her legs until her feet reached the counter island, creating a sort of bridge between the two surfaces. Asper looked at her feet disapprovingly, not liking the idea of having foot stank in her apple pie, but Shianni ignored her. “I want to have a place in society, a role. Like Uncle Cyrion, or Dilwyn, or Alarith. They all make a difference. They can’t be easily replaced.”

Asper mulled over her words thoughtfully. “You want a profession,” she offered.

“Yes!” Shianni pointed at her excitedly. “A profession! That’s exactly what I mean!”

“But, love, you need training to have a profession. Years of it.”

“That’s just it. I need the training.” She tapped the side of her chin. “And… Well, if you must know, I’ve already gotten an offer.”

Asper put down the glass that she had been drying. “Someone offered you an apprenticeship?”

“Yes! Or, maybe. Not exactly an apprenticeship, per say, but it could become one in time.”

The description made her immediately suspicious. This sounded like a scam at best, and trafficking at worst. “What does that mean? Is it an apprenticeship or not?”

Shianni wriggled her toes. “It is. It’s just not… well, you know.”

“Yes?”

“A paid one.”

Asper groaned, wringing the towel between her hands. “That’s unpaid labor, Shianni!” She twisted her towel into a rope and snapped it in the direction of her cousin, startling her. “If we start letting employers get away with free work, we may as well be slaves again!”

“Soris had to give money to his master before he could even start his training. We were broke for a clear year afterwards. Isn’t this better than that?”

“Soris also planned out his entire seven years of apprenticeship beforehand, and worked under a master that we and the elder trusted. I have no idea whose offering you this. For all that we know, it could be fraud.”

“Don’t worry. He’s the real deal.” Asper couldn’t quite believe her. “It would only be for a month,” she promised. “Then they would test me and see if I’m suitable for the job.”

“Which would be…?”

Shianni smiled so wide that she could see the lamp’s reflection off of her teeth. “A chancery assistant!”

The towel went limp in Asper’s hands. Before she could stifle it, a flare of envy rippled through her. For an elvhen woman to work at a political office was not only impressive; it was nearly unheard of, at least in Denerim. Elvhen girls worked as note-takers and maids, yes, but an actual assistant to an institutional office? There were only a handful that could claim such a title. Most of the times, shems tried to keep elves and literacy as far away from each other as they could.

“I… see.” She clamped down on her jealousy as if twisting a tube to stop liquid from flowing. Asper was the one to have taught Shianni writing skills in the first place, but she wasn’t the one who received the offer. Waitressing was a very public service, so it would be easier to catch someone’s eye. The publicity of waitressing was one of the reasons that she never applied for the job herself, and that was her own fault. She should be happy for her cousin. 

If the offer was authentic, that is.

“If that’s true, then I am very grateful to them for offering it to you,” she said as honestly as she could. She dried a mug as she spoke, spinning the towel to reach the inside. “But Cyrion needs have to have a discussion with the head before anything happens. I know too many girls that have been snatched up by the promise of some big deal. It might be too good to be true.”

She watched as Shianni’s shoulders fell, the disappointment obvious in her body language. “Yes, but… I really don’t think that it’s a trick. I know that he works at a chancery. I’ve seen him take carriages to the one on the south side.”

Asper clinked the last clean dish onto the shelf. She folded the rag into a neat square, then proceeded to toss it detachedly onto the counter. “We’ll see. How did this offer come up in the first place? You don’t have much professional writing experience.”

“He saw how fast I could write up orders and relay them back. He asked to see my handwriting, and said it was extremely clean, which...” Shianni winced. “Which he thought must come from the natural dexterity of... my kind.” Asper glowered at her, but her cousin continued. “He asked if he could see some more official writing another time, so I wrote out a little excerpt from the Chant before he came back the next week. He was impressed. I impressed him. That’s good, isn’t it?”

Asper sighed and ran her hand down her shoulder blade, rubbing at the ink there. “Maybe. Would they try to get you an actual apprenticeship alongside it? You can’t be ready for that kind of job with only a month of training.”

Shianni suddenly looked nervous. She shifted in place. “That’s the part I need help with, actually.”

Her expression hardened. “How much? When?”

“Well, if I pass the test, I’m guaranteed the job, but I’d have to study under one of the current assistants for a few years as I work the bottom position. It wouldn’t be cheap.”

Asper jutted her jaw out and nodded her head, as if ushering her to go on.

“...Fifteen sovereigns a month.”

A peculiar noise came out of her. Asper coughed into her fist. “_Fifteen?!_ How could they expect anyone to pay that, much less someone from the alienage?”

“It’s a real apprenticeship, Asper! I’d be getting real training, and I could be set up for the rest of my life!” There was a pleading look on her cousin’s face. “Please, just talk to Uncle Cyrion about it, would you? I’d be willing to work as many jobs as I had to, any jobs that I could, if it meant being able to do this.”

“Not any job,” Asper snapped fiercely. There was a cold rage in her eyes. “I’m not going to have you selling your bones and your skin and your body just for a chance at a job. Besides, you don’t even know if you’ll pass the test.”

“Can’t I just try?” Shianni begged, her face squinching up in the way before she started to cry. “What’s the point of living if I can’t even try?”

The words rang through the air.

It seemed that, once again, she had allowed her intentions to get away from her. What had begun as a probing curiosity had unraveled into a full debate over livelihood. This wasn’t what she had wanted at all.

Asper couldn’t handle bringing Shianni to tears twice in such a short time. She let the intensity slowly fizzle away into the echoes of the house as she drew closer to her cousin. She didn’t reach out for her, but stood in a close enough proximity that she could feel the emotional atmosphere surrounding her. It was stifling.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right,” she admitted. The submission seemed to surprise Shianni, causing water to bead up around the edges of her eyelashes. “Oh! No, no. Fuck, I made you cry again. I’m sorry, Shianni. Please don’t cry.”

Shianni twitched into a smile as she smudged the tears with the back of her hand. “No, it’s fine. I’ve always been the cry baby. You’ve always been the sensible one.”

Asper’s brows furrowed. “The cry baby? Says who? Maybe compared to a stone wall. You’ve always been strong, Shianni. Stronger than all the other kids, stronger than Soris, stronger than me. You actually have the guts to consider this, despite all of the risks.”

Shianni scoffed, but she could tell that her cousin’s mood was beginning to lighten. “Stronger than you? I wish. I’d never stood a chance against those fists. Not the daggers, either.”

She felt a small spark of joy from Shianni’s recognition of her combat training. That didn’t happen often in this house; her father pretended that she had never seen a blade in her life. Her style was too close to her mother’s, apparently. It made sense. Adaia was the one who had taught her.

“You would never have to, because nothing in the world could ever make me fight you, love.” Asper tapped the bottom of Shianni’s chin, signaling for her to raise her head. “You’re strong in your willpower, and your passion, and your heart. Of those, I would never stand a chance.”

Shianni stifled a giggle and pushed Asper’s hand away. “Come now. I know that you’re trying to make me feel better, but that’s a little much.”

“What can I say,” Asper confessed. “You bring out the worst in me.” She was promptly punched in the arm. “Alright, enough of that, then. I’ll talk to Cyrion, but I can’t promise anything. Do you at least have something to wear?”

Shianni’s face went blank. “To wear? Where?”

“To the training. You can’t just show up in your waitressing rags. How many blouses do you own?”

Her cousin brought her hand before her face and began to count on her fingers. “One… two… yes. Two.”

“And a long skirt?”

Shianni shook her head. Figures. Waitresses never seemed to wear full-bodied skirts. They got more tips that way.

“Then you can borrow some of my old ones.” Asper gestured towards the storage closet at the end of the hall. “I’ve gotten nicer ones since, but they’re still appropriate. They should fit you pretty well, as long as you suck in your gut.” Shianni glared at the comment, but dove into the closet anyway.

Asper hummed as she wiped down any remnants of flour, eggs, and fruit juices that were strewn across the counter. She still didn’t believe that the offer was as good as Shianni was letting it on to be, but that didn’t mean it was completely nonexistent. Maybe she was really onto something. She hoped so. Even if her own life was in tatters, she could be happy in knowing that her family was content. 

From the hallway came a delighted squeal. Shianni came racing back into the kitchen, something clutched tightly between her hands. She knew that she had good taste, but a hand-me-down didn’t normally make Shianni react quite so… eagerly.

Her cousin held out the object at arm’s length, pushing it into Asper’s face. She swatted it away and tried to get a good look.

“It’s Shemfen!” Shianni declared gleefully. It was a toy, a stuffed animal modeled after a mabari hound. It’s fur was matted and dull, a hindleg was holding on by a stitch, and one of it’s marble eyes had been replaced by an oversized button. Still, there was no denying it. It was Shemfen. Her mother had named him that as a crude joke, but it somehow stuck.

“Didn’t you throw him away?” 

Shianni looked at her, horrified, and tucked the toy close to her chest. “Of course not! Why would I ever do that?”

“After the incident with Rodolf’s mabari, I thought you were scared of him. You didn’t like him sleeping in bed with you anymore.” That bloodthirsty mutt had chased she and Shianni all around the Bann’s estate while they had been waiting for her father to get off work. She still had a scar from the damn thing. Since then, she retained a distinct disliking of dogs.

“That was temporary. I would never throw away the first gift you gave me.”

Asper tried to hide a smile. “Ah, but I didn’t really give it to you. My father did.”

“But it had been yours, and then it was mine. Uncle Cyrion told me that it had been your idea, anyway. Even then, you were looking out for me.” Shianni pulled affectionately on one of the toy’s ears. “I had just come here, and I didn’t know anyone. All I knew was that my parents were gone.” She looked up, her expression pliable and brimming with affection. “I had never been given a gift by anyone but family before. So to me, it made it clear. You were family.”

Damn her. Saying things like that. “Well...” She couldn’t stand it when she got this way. She never knew how to reply. “You always were.”

Asper smiled and drew Shianni in, making it out as if she was going to embrace her. Instead, at the last moment, she hooked her cousin underneath her elbow and ruffled her hair with her other hand. Shianni shrieked and tried to wrestle her way out, but it was in vain. Those arms were like steel locks.

It was then that Soris arrived with the cinnamon. Taking in the situation, he deposited the bottle onto the counter and sat back to watch the tussle conclude itself. Eventually, Shianni was able to escape from her cousin’s clutches. As strong as Asper was, she would never be able to withstand Shianni licking stripes up and down whatever part of her that she could reach. Dirty fighting, that was.

The pie came together beautifully. They had forgotten to do the blind bake while Soris was out, but it wasn’t a lengthy process. After half-baking the crust and dumping in their now soggy, yet cinnamony apples, it was set to be done within the hour.

The rest of their day was filled with excessive banter, general horseplay, and one too many board games, at Soris’ behest. He only liked playing them because he had infernally good luck with a pair of dice. Indeed, they were fortunate that he was such a soft soul; other people with a similar a knack of odds would have gambled away their pinky fingers by now. 

Shianni’s specialty was card games, since she spent so much time observing them while she worked. She usually won against Asper, partially because Asper didn’t have much time to practice cards and partially because she felt bad if she ever made Shianni lose. Yet there was one game that Asper showed no mercy: Wicked Grace. Adaia had taught her how to play like a true rogue. If you weren’t cheating in some way, you were playing it wrong. While part of one’s success had to do with the shifting of the cards, a larger part came from each player’s individual prowess. That’s why she liked it. She couldn’t stand gambling based on pure luck and serendipity. But skill? That she could bet on.

The three elves cavorted about until Cyrion came home. It was after dusk, which was far later than when her father was normally allowed to leave Bann Rodolf’s estate. They let the dayservants leave before sundown, as to dissuade harassment or mugging on their walk home. Coming home late would usually put her father in a bleary mood, but he was surprisingly chipper. In fact, he had been that way for the last couple weeks. When she asked him what his optimism was for, he would simply smile and say, “We’ll see.” She was starting to tire of that excuse. Her father had always confided in her. He had no reason to stop now, unless it had something to do with her. And that made her nervous.

Shianni presented their finished apple pie to Cyrion as if it were a prized pig. “We thought it would be a nice surprise!”

Cyrion smiled at her tenderly. “Thank you, dear. It looks wonderful. Although I am surprised it has lasted this long. Haven’t you been waiting for hours?”

Soris looked away bashfully. Earlier, he had proposed the idea of eating their slices before Cyrion came home, while it was still hot from the oven. It was tempting. The house smelled of spices and cider and buttery warmth, even now. Yet somehow, through some miracle, they had endured. “Come now, uncle. We have more self-control than that.”

“Today, at least.” Cyrion grinned and hung his coat onto the crooked hanger hook. As slight as he was, the old couch wheezed under the man’s weight when he sat down. Shianni began to cut and serve the pie. She handed her uncle the first slice, then Soris, then Asper, before cutting one for herself. They had picked on Soris enough for the day than to make him be the last to get a slice.

It was after Cyrion had taken a bite that his eyes went wide. At first, Asper feared that there was something wrong with the pie. Had one of them accidentally used salt instead of sugar? It wouldn’t be the first time. But no. She shoveled a chunk into her mouth, and it tasted wonderful, as always. Sweet and tangy, with a certain darkness that only made it better. It tasted like how Adaia was.

Her father swallowed quickly and set his plate into his lap. “Asper. What time is it?”

She cranked her head to peer at the clock in the corner of the kitchen. “A little after seventh hour. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, dear. I didn’t know that it was already so late. The post closes at eight, does it not?”

Asper nodded.

“I hate to force an errand onto you, but would you mind running over and fetching a letter at the city post?” He tapped his fork against the edge of his plate, a nervous fidget that only made the older man more sympathetic. “It is a very important letter.”

While she would have done it no matter its importance, she wanted to confirm her suspicions. “And would this very important letter have anything to do with your behavior these last few weeks?”

Cyrion only smiled.

“We’ll see.”

The man was lucky that he was her father.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Asper promised, although somewhat testily. Her younger cousins looked down at their pie slices dejectedly. They really did have little self-control. “Yes, you can eat while I’m gone. Just save me my piece and another, and make sure Father gets dinner. We’ve been nibbling all day, but he hasn’t eaten since this morning.”

With her family taken care of, Asper threw on Cyrion’s old coat, a black hat, a pair of stringy gloves, and dashed into the sparsely-cobbled streets.

Although the days were beginning to lengthen, winter was not quite over. They hadn’t had a fresh snowfall for weeks now, but the grass and the windows still frosted over at night. She was grateful for having taken her father’s wool jacket instead of her own. Her coat had received a nasty rip from a pile of rubble that had laid too close to the side of the road. When walking back from the Pearl a few nights before, the bottom snagged on a shard of scrap metal and tore all the way down to the hem. She hadn’t had the time to have it fixed. Honestly, she should take something up with the blacksmith. The man couldn't just go dumping his rubbish wherever he wished.

As Asper neared the post office, she wrapped the thick fabric around her tightly. Pickpockets loved to camp out in the adjacent alleyways. Little urchins would fall into wealthy-looking strangers and kindly help them retrieve their fallen packages, all the while pocketing coins and jewelry into hidden pouches. She should know. She used to be one of them. She doubted that any would mistake her for having money, but one could never know; children would risk anything when their family was starving. She couldn’t blame them, either.

The deskman at the post frowned when he saw her. Most of the times, elves went to their own office in the alienage. To come to the city post meant that they had received some sort of official or particularly long-distance mail. Still, he didn’t give her any trouble when she asked for the letter. She supposed he just wanted his shift to be over.

The letter was a thick vellum, milky white against her freckled fingers. The seal wasn’t from anyone she recognized. It looked like a family crest of some sort, although not noble. There was something that looked liked a vhenadahl, a tree of the people, that wrapped around the outside of the crest. An elvhen family, then? Yet it that were true, why was it so pristine, so lavish? They could have sent it directly to the alienage like everyone else. It was curious.

Fighting the urge to rip the fold, Asper packed the letter carefully into the satchel around her waist.

Reentering the blustery streets, she was immediately met by a pair of huge, watery eyes and swollen, open palms. Ah, so one of the little vagrants would make an appearance after all.

“Please, ser! Would you have a coin to spare? I need to buy a box of matches for the tinder tonight!”

Although a voice in her head warned her that it was a ruse, her hand went to her coin pouch anyway. It was but a boy, and an elvhen one at that. At one time, she herself had survived off of the charity of others. She could not give much, but she could give enough to make a dent of difference.

As she turned her back to rifle through the pouch, she felt an opening of cold air on her other side. Her arm whipped in the direction of the movement and clamped down tightly upon a thin wrist. As expected, the brat had brought company. The accomplice, a small girl no older than nine, squeaked in surprise. The boy gaped. She attempted to tug her hand away, but Asper’s grip was like a cuff. She had the same blonde hair as the boy, the same nose, and under her hat, there was the unmistakable bumps of elvhen ears. His little sister, most likely.

Asper bent to the level of the girl, their heads nearly even. “Now, now. That isn’t any way to treat someone who was going to share her coins. You should have a better scheme than that. Otherwise, not even the generous ones will come near you.”

She relaxed her grip on the girl. The girl grabbed her hand away, but did not flee. The two children stared, still fearful, but curious too. Asper attempted the most placating smile that she could muster. 

“Do not worry. I won’t turn you two in.” Their shoulders relaxed. “You have a good set-up here. You’re both young, both gangly, and have a trust that I assume comes from family, yes?” The children nodded. The girl mumbled something about the boy being her older brother. “However... now I would feel the fool if I were to give my hard-earned coin to two ruffians that tried to steal from me. It would be unbecoming, don’t you think? Downright pathetic of me.”

The siblings shuffled in their places. The boy kicked at a chunk of sloshy ice, breaking open upon his scuffed boots like a burst bubble. The girl’s lip trembled. Then, on her left, Asper caught the view of a man stumbling through one of the inner streets. The rest of the alley was deserted. The post was closing in minutes, after all. She began to form an idea.

“No, that won’t do it all.” Her smile twisted into something a trace more sinister. “I suppose I’ll just have to find _someone else’s_ hard-earned coin and give that to you instead.” She bowed her head in the direction of the man and pulled off one of her gloves. She twiddled her fingers mischievously, and the children caught on to her insinuation. They nodded again, although this time with much more earnest. She gestured for them to wait beside the post office, then set off in the direction of the man.

She hadn’t resorted to thievery for about a month, but that was only because she thought she wouldn’t need to. She hadn’t wanted to endanger her fiancee finding out about her history with the stocks, and as most of her friends, family, and general neighbors knew, that history was rather extensive. Now that she was a free woman again, she didn’t have to worry about a momentary nick in her reputation. It was an opportunity that could throw some extra money in the direction of fellow elves, which was a good enough reason than any. She needed coin for Shianni’s apprenticeship, anyhow.

In her prime, Asper had made good coin with pickpocketing. She had been too young and spindly to be of any use in a job, so she made her own. Her mother never outright supported her excursions, but she would laugh and kiss her cheeks whenever young Asper showed Adaia her savings. If Asper got a kick out of the misfortune of shems, it made her mother practically ecstatic. 

Yet she wasn’t stupid. Pickpocketing wasn’t a game, no matter how much school children played pretend that it was. The act was always careful, always calculated, and always ran the chance of being caught. If she came closer and realized that the risk ran too high, she would quit without shame. The best thieves survived because they could admit when something was out of reach. Not that she was a professional thief by any extent, but she knew the teachings of one.

She tucked her loose hairs into her cap, covering her identifiable red, and tugged the coat’s hood so low that it nearly covered her eyes. She walked the alley that was to the right of the man, as to not alarm his suspicion. Getting glimpses of him through the spaces between the buildings, her assumption was confirmed. The man, a human that could be no younger sixty, lurched forward with a gait that was unmistakably tipsy. Maker, did shems age poorly.

Checking over her shoulders, she drew closer to her target. A familiar flush of adrenaline surged through her veins, making her heart beat faster no matter how calm she stayed. It made her arms feel light, her fingers feel dextrous, like she could pluck a pigeon out of the sky were one to fly by. It was all in her head, but it was a good feeling. Yes, some part of her had missed this.

The man wore a short cape, which worked to her advantage. Were it any longer, she would have to move the fabric to the side and pose a greater risk of detection. She did not bend her shoulders, did not squat, but strolled casually past the human as if just another traveler on their jaunt back home. At the last moment, she darted her hand out to the man’s purse, unclipping the hook from his belt-loop. Pouch hooks were advertised to ward away thieves. What a useless invention.

Her trophy received, she hid the purse inside one of her coat’s inner pockets. For a moment, she believed that the heist had gone flawlessly. Then she felt a hand grab the back of her hood and _pull_.

One of Asper’s feet stumbled back, but she kept the other planted firmly on the ground. Fuck. It seemed he wasn’t as inebriated as she thought he was. Although she could feel his body come closer, she didn’t dare turn. If he saw her face, she could say goodbye to going home within the next week. Hell, with her number of infractions, they might lose their patience and finally take off her hand. When she was caught before, she had always figured out a way to slip the purse back onto the body of the target, making it all seem like a misunderstanding. She could only pull that trick so many times, however, before the court stopped differentiating a misunderstanding from a dirty troublemaker.

“Think you could steal from me and get away with it, did ya?” The voice was slurred and gravelly, a familiar tone among drunk old men. “How about you give that back and we take a nice ol’ trip to the barracks, unless ya’d rather me beat you into a bag of meat first.”

Asper didn’t move or speak. She didn’t want to give away anything about herself, and was trying to think of the best method of escape. It seemed he didn’t like her lack of response.

“I’m talkin’ to you! I’ll assume you want the last option if ya don’t say anythin’!” With a heavy hand, the man yanked down Asper’s hood, making her writhe in his grasp. If her heart had been beating fast before, it was beating like a rabbit’s now. Although her cap still hid her hair, the man had tugged her coat and shirt halfway down her back, exposing her neck and part of her shoulder.

The human stilled at what he saw. Then he began to laugh. “Oh! Oh, isn’t that jus’ precious! You’re not only a lil’ _thief_, you’re a _whore_ too! Swimmin’ a bit far from your pond, ain’tcha?”

Asper felt a fire burn both in her stomach and on her cheeks. Even if he didn’t know who exactly she was, now he knew where she worked. That fucking brand. It always caused her trouble. She should have taken it on her hip, like Sanga had advised.

“Now let’s see if you’re one of the pretty ones…” She felt him reach for her hat. 

Instinct calling her limbs into action, she spun around and grabbed his hand, bending his wrist in a direction that wrists were not supposed to go. She made sure to keep her elbows in front of her face, hiding her features as best as she could. As soon as she heard the crack, she whipped back around and ran. Instead of fleeing towards the children, however, she fled in the direction away from the post office. For all he knew, this was the way she had come. She sprang into the nearest turns and didn’t slow to look back, not even once. She could hear his cursing reverberating against the stone walls, but it was muffled by the slurry snow.

Once she was far enough away to be deemed safe, she allowed herself to breathe. The icy air stung her lungs, but it felt good to be able to take deep breaths. This is what happened when she got out of practice. Next time, she would find someone that was completely passed out. Little steps.

Working a careful circle back to the two children, she handed them a shiny, golden sovereign from the man’s purse. It was probably more money than they’d seen in weeks. She gave it to them under one condition: “Next time, try not to steal from other elves. We already have the world working against us. We don’t need to work against ourselves too. Unless, of course, they look like an asshole.” The children laughed, thanked her profusely, and went home. She did the same.

When she returned, she was out of breath. She had sprinted the way back as an attempt to make up for her lost time. She was still late, but it was less suspicious than if she had walked.

“Apologies for my lateness, there was a line at the post…” Asper began her excuse, but trailed off when she noticed the expressions of her family.

Her father was sitting up attentively, a grand smile on his face. He beckoned for the mail and slit it open with a thin blade. While he perused its contents, his smile only became wider.

Shianni, however, sat at the kitchen table in near tears. She tried to give a smile as well, but her anguish bled into it like a spilled drink. It ended up drooping down at the corners, forced and damp.

Soris didn’t look at her when she came in. He was entirely engrossed into stirring a small pot of stew, and unwilling to divert his attention.

Cyrion folded the fine letter and placed it carefully on the lamp desk. He rose.

“Asper. My darling girl. We’ve received some wonderful news. Please, sit.”

The faces of her cousins begged to disagree, but Asper obeyed. If her father was pulling out endearments, it must be serious.

“As all of you know, I have worked for Bann Rodolf for over two decades now. I am his head servant, and have served him well no matter the task.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “You’ve always been his most valuable help.” Which was why she had always been bitter about his paltry earnings.

“I know that we’ve been disappointed by my lack of wages there,” he said, as if reading her mind, “but as it turns out, that lacking has been a mistake. Last week, the Bann discovered that his treasurer has been embezzling from his workers’ earnings. Been doing it for years, in fact.” Asper’s ears pricked a fraction higher, suddenly very invested in this new information. “When all of it was properly calculated, they found that I should have been making over double than what I have been.”

She felt lightheaded. Even though her father made less than other head servants in the area, it was still no spare change. To have over double that, in the course of twenty years…

“How much?”

Cyrion showed her another letter, the seal on the envelope unmistakably Bann Rodolf’s. The number took her breath away. This could pay for Shianni’s apprenticeship, finish paying off Soris’s, purchase the house in their name, and more.

“This isn’t even all of it,” her father explained. “This is what I should have made, but the Bann is giving us a little extra for all of the trouble over the years. I knew I picked a good one.” He swelled with joy and pride. Asper couldn’t even swallow. She couldn’t breathe, but in the best way. For once, her family was getting a break. She didn’t think she’d live to see the day.

“Father…” Despite her aversion to physicalities, she stood and embraced Cyrion, a kind of happy warmth she hadn’t felt in him since Adaia passed. “Papae, I’m so glad. That’s wonderful. It’s everything you’ve always deserved.” Yet it didn’t explain the reactions from her cousins. They should be enthralled.

After a pause, Cyrion pulled away and held Asper by her shoulders. “That isn’t all. There’s something just for you. Something wonderful.”

Her nerves reappeared, eating away at her abdomen the second the words came out of his mouth. “Yes?”

“I was sure they’d agree, but the letter you brought has made it official. Oh, my dear daughter,” he whispered, and embraced her again. This time, it was slightly less welcome. Out with it, for Maker’s sake. “He is better than any of them. He will be good to you, I promise. You will be happy.”

Shianni made a noise in her throat. She threw her palms against the table, raising her volume and head in tandem. 

“You’re getting married, Asper!”

Her voice broke, cracking in half like a broken twig. She had to push herself to continue. “You’re getting married in two weeks, and you’re going to move to Highever with him after the wedding. You’re _leaving!_” Tears dribbled onto the back of her hands.

Her father tried to scold Shianni for her incursion, but Asper’s mind was elsewhere.

She was getting married. She was moving. She was leaving.

It seemed she was going to have her future after all.


	8. A Traitor's Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a vital event in Zevran's life. If you've spoken to him in-game, you will know that it's a violent, upsetting scene, and as such is written accordingly. Warnings for some physical abuse and a death.

It didn’t take them long to do it.

Zevran had been worried that Taliesen would expose their plot, as he was a far worse actor than himself, but his facade remained surprisingly rigid. The evening passed like any other. Despite the wrath and regret burning holes in both of their skin, they were able to keep the fires unseen by the outside world. Rinna hadn’t expected a thing.

The next morning was routine. Rinna came down to drink her coffee, refused any offer of breakfast, and returned to her room when her cup ran empty. The only meal the three of them shared anymore was dinner, leaving a small window for Zevran to enact his plan. Fortunately, he was often in charge of the meals, allowing him greater jurisdiction over their exact method.

Steak or poultry would be the worst. It was near impossible to hide anything in the folds of the meat, and most liquid substances affected the texture. The average person wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but Rinna was not the average person. She would know that something was off.

Soup would seem like the most logical idea, and it oftentimes was. Yet the drug could disperse too easily, and Rinna did not always finish her meals. Soups and stews were good for lethal poisons. If a mix was strong enough, one only needed a sip to do themselves in. Tranquilizers were trickier. They had to make sure that she took the entire dosage, lest she wake up in the middle of the carriage ride and cause problems.

The solution came to him the night before the deadline. Rinna was always thrilled when Zevran made pasta for dinner. While he was no culinary genius, he had been making alfredos, carbonaras, and bologneses since he could first reach a stove. Pasta had been the most economical option for a poor orphan, more filling than broth, and had continued to satisfy the trio’s stomachs during their worst periods of poverty. It was a shared nostalgia. Although their current relationship was shaky, it would grant the greatest chance of Rinna finishing her plate.

Yet simply slipping it into the sauce was still too much of a risk. She still might not ingest enough, and they couldn’t afford a mistake. Rinna was a professional assassin, and had been trained in the same ways that they were. They only had one chance. So Zevran spent much of the night and the next morning making homemade fettuccine, acting as if he was preparing a special meal. One serving was laced with the sedative, ingrained into the dough, which was kept carefully separated from the rest. Rinna did not appear to notice anything awry. It was not unlike him to engage in such frivolities to relieve his pre-contract boredom.

He paired the pasta that night with a thick cream sauce, hopefully further disguising the drug. It was supposed to be tasteless, but Crows had a knack for picking up on the barest of discrepancies. He needn’t have worried. Rinna hadn’t left her room since morning, and the coffee hadn’t done much to stave her hunger. She devoured his dinner like it was her last meal. 

Ah. But it truly was, wasn’t it?

The sedative caused no twitching, no headaches, no throbbing of muscle fatigue. It only made her feel extraordinarily drowsy, which was oftentimes the result of ingesting large quantities of food anyway. She was asleep on the couch within the hour.

Even while he was knotting the rope around her wrists, it still didn’t feel real.

Nor did hauling her out to a wagon they had rented the day before, as if it was just another night that she had drunk one too many. Nor did tying rags around her eyes and mouth, eyes that he had once spent entire minutes staring into and a mouth that he had once spent hours kissing. Nor did laying her on the hard floor of the abandoned shack, muddying the hands that he had once adored holding. 

It didn’t feel real. 

Yet, as he watched her slowly awaken, he knew that it was.

Rinna’s figure trembled, as if rousing out of a bad dream. Then she was shaking her head and blinking, undoubtedly confused of why she couldn’t see or move freely. When she processed the rough texture of the rope and the balling of fabric between her lips, he could see her confusion morph into panic.

This was not the first time he had captured a target, but it was by far the worst. It was good that they had decided to cover her eyes, otherwise she would have seen Zevran pressing his knuckle between his teeth, doing everything that he could not to gag. Ravenous fury had motivated him thus far, but upon being confronted with the reality of the scene, his rage was failing him. He knew what they had to do, but it did not halt the doubt and misery from clawing at the inside of his head, screaming for him to stop. He should untie her, should hold her, should lift her up and carry her home. He rarely felt guilt for his victims anymore; those feelings had been lashed out of him for years. Yet Rinna was more than a simple target. As much as he tried to distance himself, watching her twist in fear made his heart coil in tandem. It was as if his chest would come apart.

He felt a heavy hand upon his shoulder. Taliesen was there beside him, finished with checking the perimeters of the building. It was a crumbling shed in the middle of natural farmland, no houses or barns for miles around, but they couldn’t be too careful. He gripped Zevran tightly. His gaze bore into his own like hot charcoal, and Zevran nodded. They knew what the other was feeling, but also knew that they couldn’t falter. He couldn’t succumb to weakness, not now. Rinna had once been a comrade, a friend, a lover, but she was no longer any of those things. It was not they that had chosen the path of betrayal.

Taliesen took a step forward. “I think that you know why you’re here,'' he said, biting into the unnerving quiet.

Rinna stilled at the sound of his voice. Then she began to wriggle even more furiously, thrashing in his direction with her bound arms.

“We all know,” Zevran declared.

The addition of his voice only caused Rinna further distress. It seemed that she had not expected him to be part of these circumstances.

“We noticed your absences. We noticed your odd behavior. We even noticed your collection of documents, completely unrelated to any of our current contracts. Yet still, we assumed the best of you. We believed that years of trust and service would not be _broken so easily._” Taliesen’s last words came out like a hiss. He held his hands behind his back, and Zevran could see his nails digging into his own palm. If he pressed any harder, he would draw blood. “How _foolish_ we were.”

Rinna had stopped most of her movement to listen to Taliesen, carefully drinking it in. She then shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. 

Zevran couldn’t help but feel enraged by her dismissal. “You can deny it as much as you wish, but there is no point. We have the evidence, my dear Rinna.” Her name had never felt so dirty in his mouth.

She shook her head again, more aggressively than before.

“But we are not completely heartless,” Taliesen interjected. “We might allow a last defense, if only to honor what we once had.”

Talisen took a few more steps forward until he was there in front of her, his body towering over hers menacingly. Had his shoulders always been so wide, his figure so tall? Zevran had watched Taliesen work before, but never had he seemed so terrifying as he did now.

He broke the rag around Rinna’s eyes with his hand, tugging it violently until it snapped apart against the back of her head. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, the cloth soaked with tears. Yet despite her obvious dismay, she stared at Taliesen with such an intensity that he had to take half a step back. There was fear there, yes, but there was also a sense of motivation, of pure will to live, of… loathing, perhaps. She had not given up.

Overcoming her gaze, Taliesen bent down to her level. He fiddled and pulled at the wrap around her mouth, causing Rinna to cough. 

Zevran once again felt a jolt of pity, but ignored it. If this simple act had him near tears, they would never be able to finish the deed. Instead, he forced himself to near Rinna, holding her gaze just as Taliesen had. At first, she gave him the same fierce look as before, but then her eyebrow twitched, and suddenly there was a sadness in her eyes that was so profound that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to retain his self-control. He couldn’t frown. He couldn’t let his eyes show any remorse. He couldn’t give any sign that he cared for her.

“You want to talk?” Taliesen yanked the rag again, causing another cough. “Or does your traitor’s tongue even work anymore?” Reaching for his belt, the man unsheathed a knife and held it near her face. With its point, he traced the outlines of her lips from beneath the fabric. “Or perhaps I should just cut it out right here and now, hm? Never allow it to form another lie.”

A muffled noise came from Rinna, her pupils becoming pinpricks. She knew that he was never one to bluff.

“Taliesen,” Zevran warned. They had agreed on minimal harm. While a traitor, she had still been an upstanding Crow for most of her life, and he believed that she deserved a quick, clean death. Perhaps it was also because he didn’t think he could stomach causing her any more pain than they had to. Duty was duty, but they had their choice in its execution.

Taliesen whipped his head back towards him, glaring hard. “Do not defend her. Not now.” He gestured at him with his blade. “I need Zevran the assassin here with me, not Zevran the _lover._ Think about what she has done. Think about what she was going to _do._ Her affection was just an act. Do not keep playing the fool.” He punctuated his last sentence with a sharp kick to Rinna’s side. She groaned in pain.

Zevran instinctively reached out towards Rinna, but it was caught by Taliesen unarmed hand. “Don’t,” he demanded. “Where is the man that stood there a few minutes ago? Think, Zevran. Truly think. Think about how you felt when you first read that letter. Think about that rage, that feeling of betrayal. She lied to us both. I need you alongside me. I can’t finish this without you.” He thrusted Zevran’s arm back to his side. “We’re Crows. This is what we do.”

He was a Crow.

Just as Taliesen had prompted, his mind went back to the discovery of the letter. He returned to that anger, that anguish, and finally, that cold clarity that allowed him to plan this act in the first place. It was not Taliesen who found the old shack that she would be disposed in. It was not Taliesen who researched the correct sedative that she would not be immune to. It was not Taliesen who bought the ropes, pinched the rags, cooked the meal that lead to this encounter. It was him.

He was the one who planned Rinna’s death.

Rinna had been an anomaly in Zevran’s life since the moment that he had met her. Taliesen and Zevran had been recruited the same year, but Rinna came later. She was easily the most talented of her year, and after just one mission with the three of them working together, House Arainai knew that they had stumbled across a deadly formula. He and Taliesen had always opted for the same contract, but Rinna had never actively chosen to work alongside them. She had been ordered to. He had forgotten that.

Perhaps she had been making the best out of her situation. No one chose to be a Crow, after all. Perhaps she knew that it would be easier to give in, and that teams that were intimate worked more efficiently than teams that were not. All of those days of strolling and laughter, all of those nights of tenderness and promises. Perhaps she had always been waiting for her chance. All she ever wanted to do was to escape. They were only fanciful obstacles in her way. She had planned on killing them, and he shouldn’t feel guilty for reflecting her own actions. She had taken the first step. This was of her own doing.

Zevran’s hand went to the surface of his pocket, where he knew the letter hid. Any heat of his rage had been abandoned at the doors, but it left something even worse in its stead. Apathy. He was tired of thinking about this. He was tired of thinking about her.

Zevran stared at Rinna. She stared back.

He was never anything to her.

It seemed only fair to grant her the same disservice.

When Zevran looked upon Rinna now, he felt no remorse. He had taken all of his shards even deeper inside of him, where he would keep them for the rest of his cursed life. He only felt a searing shame, disgraced that he had once fallen for her, for him, to have felt anything so degrading for anyone at all. Taliesen was right. He was just a Crow. It was his own fault to have tried to walk outside those lines.

He suddenly rushed towards Rinna, his dagger so quickly in his hand that she nearly missed it. She flinched when he came closer, but all he did was bring the blade between her jaw and the rag. With one motion, he cut through. Rinna took a deep, labored breath, but the reprieve didn’t last long. Zevran slid the edge of his dagger towards Rinna’s neck, the metal barely grazing against her flesh. He could see her throat consciously constrict.

“_Why?_” It was all that he could say.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” she replied. Hearing her speak caused a burst of color in his brain, but it wasn’t enough to make it through the fog of his detachment.

Taliesen scoffed behind him. “Yes, because murdering us wouldn’t have caused us any harm at all.”

Rinna’s eyebrows knitted together. “Murder?” she asked dazedly, the drug clearly having not worn off. “Why do you think I would murder you?”

Zevran snatched the letter from his pocket, unwilling to wait any longer. He thrust the piece of paper at her face. “Oh, I do wonder.” His voice was low and dark, nearly unrecognizable. “This is your handwriting, yes?”

She blinked, struggling to focus on the words. “I… yes,” she admitted. “But that is not mine. I did not-”

Taliesen kicked her again. She let out a noise of pain, now unmuted by the cloth. This time, Zevran refused to allow himself to feel any sympathy.

“We know what you have been planning,” Zevran continued, “and we know what you were about to do. You are not only a traitor to us, but a traitor to House Arainai.” He lifted the tip of his dagger, forcing Rinna’s head to rise so that she was looking directly at him. “A traitor to the Crows.”

Rinna swallowed, the motion causing her throat to press further against the edge of the blade. “I… yes. But I was planning on bringing you with me. You wouldn’t have been killed. I promise.” Tears began to form on her bottom lashes.

“If you continue to lie, I will end you with my bare hands,” Taliesen threatened, his voice booming through the room. A shiver ran through Rinna, Taliesen’s violent intentions almost as palpable as the roof over their heads. “You sold us out.”

“No!” she cried. “I don’t know who wrote that letter, but I never betrayed you! I’ll tell you everything, I’ll explain!” She struggled against her constraints, forcing the blade to nip into her skin. A single red line made a trail down her neck. She didn’t seem to care. “I had my reasons for lying! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I promise that I was going to tell you, but I couldn't let you get in the way! I just needed to wait for the right time!”

“And that time has passed,” Zevran said coldly. Perhaps if they had let her talk earlier, her excuses would have shook his composure. Perhaps he may have even listened. Now, they didn’t make a dent. “We gave you chances to be honest. You could have backed out of this. I begged you to talk to me,” he seethed, “but you couldn’t bring yourself to say a single word.” Zevran brought his other hand to his face, hiding a repulsed smile. A sick snap of laughter came out of him. The situation was far from humorous, but it was the only way his body knew how to react. “To think, if the waiter had taken another minute, you might have told me about your plans. You might have disregarded your deal. We could have worked it out, and went back to the Crows like nothing had ever happened.” His expression shifted into a somber grimace. “But we cannot base our lives on ifs and mights. You had no trust in us. We have no reason to have any trust in you.”

A flash of anger darted across Rinna’s face. “I did trust you. I told you, I had my reasons, I’ve always had my reasons. I knew what I was doing. I’ve always acted in our best intere-”

“The evidence is stacked against you,” he stated. He spoke like he couldn’t hear her. His words came out of a mouth that was not his own, reciting the reasonings that Taliesen had persuaded him with the night before. His sentences were just sounds, her body was just a collection of shapes. He had crawled so deeply inside himself that he was a spectator of his own anatomy. His head pulsed with an insatiable ache. “The letter was the last piece we needed. You are a traitor to the Crows, and must be dealt with accordingly.”

Zevran stood. He shared a look with Taliesen. They both nodded.

She knew what that nod meant. She knew what that look conveyed. Her tears ran freely now. “Please, believe me! Taliesen, please!” She tried to beg him, but no mercy could be found in his eyes. She transferred her efforts to her other partner. “Zevran, just let me explain. I promise that I can explain. I got greedy, I was selfish, but I wasn’t going to leave you behind, I haven’t betrayed you-”

“I do not want to hear any more of your lies, Rinnala.” There was nothing in his voice.

Taliesen stood behind her. She could feel his arm hold her in place, the weight of the pommel resting momentarily on her shoulder. 

“Zevran…” She gasped as she felt the cold metal of the blade against her throat, pressing harder than Zevran ever had. “Zevran. Please. I love you.”

He blinked. He could not hear her.

“Even if that were true, I do not care.”

Taliesen pulled the blade across, freeing the lifeforce from her skin and allowing it to flow into the open air. Any sound that she would have made died with the motion. He lowered her onto the ground, her last few moments spent crumpled on the cold, rotting planks. Zevran’s face contorted, and he spat at her feet.

It was done.

He usually watched the light leave his target’s eyes, but just this once, Taliesen would have to forgive him for looking away.


	9. A Happy Wedding Time

Asper’s sleep, albeit not exactly restful, was interrupted with a delicate shaking. She turned over in her bed, flattening her face into her pillow. The shaking continued. A palm swatted out from beneath the covers at the accursed interruption, but it was caught in midair before it could make any sort of contact.

A hand squeezed hers. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” a voice said gently.

Asper’s eyes cracked open. Shianni was bending over the bed, inarguably the cause of her awakening. The shades behind her were drawn, allowing long shafts of light into the room and emphasizing the heavy specks of dust that drifted through the air. Hadn’t she just swept yesterday? She should buy them a new broom.

“Nmmore minute…”

Shianni squeezed her hand again. “Hey, you. It’s time to wake up.” She was trying to sound cheerful, but there was a distinct bittersweetness that she couldn’t quite conceal. “It’s your wedding day. Can’t miss that, can you?”

All remnants of rest were abandoned. Asper made a gurgling sound deep inside her throat, a groan that was stopped halfway by a collection of morning mucus. She coughed and cleared it with a growl. A sneeze almost joined the procession, but her nose reconsidered.

Shianni made a face. “Very attractive. I’m sure your husband will find waking up next to you a real joy.”

“Of course. You always had.” With that, Asper pulled on Shianni’s hand, causing her cousin to partially tumble onto the sheets. “The sun’s barely up, and the wedding isn’t until midday. Keep me company for just a moment, would you?”

Shianni looked at her skeptically.

She let go of her hand and patted the space next to her in bed. “It’s my last day as a single woman. The last time I’ll have a bedroom to share with you. I know we’re not children anymore, but you can’t blame the bride-to-be for being nostalgic, can you?”

Shianni smiled. Asper had been using her laurel as bride against her cousins all week. Whether it be washing the table, scrubbing the floors, or fetching fish from the market, her upcoming nuptials were an excuse against any and every chore. She still did most of the work assigned to her, but it was fun watching Soris panic and question whether or not she was telling the truth. Was it bad luck for brides to move the pews of her own wedding? It wasn’t, but there was no way Soris could ever know for sure. If only he had thought to use his own position as groom. They could have united their forces.

Her cousin moved into the place beside her. They both laid on their backs, staring up into the old planks of the bedframe above them. “It’s the last time you can use that excuse, too. You won’t be a bride-to-be much longer.”

Asper rubbed at the sand in the corners of her eyes. “True. I’ll be a honeymooner instead, and all of the taverns will feel obligated to give me discounts.”

Shianni laughed. “Maker, is that true? I guess getting married isn’t all bad, then.”

Asper echoed her laughter. “Maybe you should try it some time.”

There was a pause between them. The weight of Shianni’s smile became a little heavier, as if she was trying to hold up an iron bar with the corners of her mouth alone. “Someday, maybe. For now, two weddings are plenty.”

“I know,” Asper said. “Too much, even.”

Shianni nodded quietly.

“I’ve been on the market for years now, but I wasn’t expecting to marry off Soris so quickly.”

Shianni nodded again. 

“Double weddings are cheaper. It’s sensible, financially speaking. Cyrion knows what’s best.”

Turning slowly, her cousin took ahold of her arm, interlacing her fingers with her own. “I know.”

“Soris has been of marrying age for awhile,” she tried to reason, although she wasn’t sure whether it was with Shianni or herself. “With only a few years left of his apprenticeship, and with the family coming into money, it’s no surprise that he’d be a popular choice.”

“I know.”

“His fiance seems very kind. A good cook, too. Maybe even better than me.”

“Maybe,” she agreed mutedly.

“They’ll visit often.

“Right.”

Asper reached up with her other hand, tracing the grains of the wood with the tips of her nails. If she looked hard enough, some of the lines made the shape of a gaping, disfigured face. When she was young, she used to talk to it in the middle of the night, just to disturb her bunkmates. Shianni had always hated it. 

Asper sighed. 

“It’s still kind of terrible, isn’t it?”

Shianni’s grip on her hand tightened. 

“Yes.”

Asper twisted her body so that she was facing her younger cousin. The planks forgotten, the two women peered at each other, communicating thoughts without the use of language or words. Shianni’s eyebrow trembled. Her lips puckered into a thin line, an expression she had first learned from Asper herself. Asper smoothed out her brow with a thumb. “Hey, now,” she spoke softly. “We’re not disappearing. Soris will only be a short walk away, and I…” She hesitated. “I’ll try to visit whenever I can. Every Satinalia and birthday. Summerday and Wintersend too, if I can.”

“If you’re not too busy being a doting wife,” Shianni countered, a sour note seeping through. Her eyes darted away, resting on something on the wall behind her. “Have you discussed the number of children you plan to have, or will you be waiting a few weeks for that conversation?”

“Shianni.”

“Yes?”

“I will _never_ be a doting wife. You know that. Besides, you shouldn't talk about me like I'm already gone. Love, I’m always going to be your family.” Asper’s gaze hardened. There was a gravity in her voice that seemed to slap her cousin across the face. “I could be hundreds of miles away, and I’d still be your family. I could have dozens of little anklebiters wreaking havoc on my sanity, and I’d still be your family. I can be anywhere, doing anything, but that will never change. Do you understand?” The question was not rhetorical.

“I… yes. I understand.” Something was catching in Shianni’s eyes. “Everything is changing so quickly. I suppose I’m just scared.”

Asper let out a sharp bark of laughter, startling both of them. “You’re scared? I’ve never even been to Highever, never met this Nelaros fellow, and yet I’m expected to make a home there with him. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too,” she admitted. 

The realization hadn’t sunk in until she spoke it aloud. She was scared. She was relieved to have finally found a husband, and moving to a new alienage would leave any traces of past employment behind her, but she was leaving everything else along with it. For all of her years, family had been her priority. Family still would be, but the members of that family she would either be meeting today, or creating herself. She had doubts if she could make such a switch.

“I wanted to marry, but not quite like this.” Asper rubbed at the mark on her shoulder blade. “An arranged marriage is well and fine, but meeting our betrothed the day of the wedding is a little unconventional, even for the elder.”

Shianni shrugged halfheartedly. “At least they were willing to push the date back a few more weeks.”

“Only so Cyrion could organize Soris’ marriage.”

“It was still a few more weeks to be with you.”

Asper felt the iron from Shianni’s expression transfer into the slot behind her ribcage. She tugged her cousins closer and held her there for a moment, a rarely initiated embrace. She struggled for the right words. “I know, and I’m glad that I had them.” She could feel Shianni’s ears digging into the soft spot under her jaw, but she didn’t care. “We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Her cousin raised her head. “Do you promise?” 

Shianni’s eyes were pleading with her. She needed the comfort, as empty as the validation may be. Asper wouldn’t be there to protect her any longer. She despised the idea of leaving as much as her cousin did, but nothing could be done. Their lives were going through a transformation, and tearing the cocoon would only cause a deformed result. It was futile to swim against the current of the sea.

“I promise.”

Shianni let out an unwieldy breath, but once it was freed, her composure quickly returned. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. “Come, then. You have to greet the guests before you can put on your dress. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.” She flashed her a brilliant smile, undoubtedly learned from her years as a barmaid. “And perk up. A bride shouldn’t frown on her wedding day.”

Asper followed her advice. As heavy as the air had been a few moments prior, they knew that they couldn’t let the solemness stay. This day was supposed to be full of happy memories, after all.

Shianni helped Asper into a traditional slip, an underdress made to be worn before the rites. It was thin and lacy, but as it was still early spring, she had thankfully been granted one with sleeves. The bottom of the sleeve’s hem went over a foot past her wrist, making picking things up more difficult than it should be. Handicapped, her cousin went on to fret over her hair. After a few minutes of painful pulling and pinning, they decided on letting most of the curls flow freely across her shoulders, weaving back only what would cover her face otherwise. Watching her cousin braid her hair, the thin strips moving quickly through her fingers, caused a pang of reminiscence. It was she who had first taught her to braid. When had she gotten so good at it?

Shianni offered to do her makeup as well, but she declined. After two years of painting her face at the Pearl, she trusted her own hand more than any other’s. She just had to make it more subtle than usual. Scarlet was not a color becoming of a blushing bride.

Her cousin excused herself hurriedly after they finished, undoubtedly heading straight to the casks outside. Cyrion had granted her the privilege of becoming respectfully plastered today, and she seemed keen on getting started. Although Asper worried about her cousin’s habits, she knew that Shianni’s nerves would deteriorate after a few drinks. In fact, a glass of wine would probably do herself some good. Pre-wedding jitters were more than just a myth.

Her father was waiting for her outside of her room. Although she wasn’t even yet wearing her wedding gown, just the sight of her seemed to make his eyes wet. 

“Good morning, my girl.” Then he halted, contemplating his words. “Ah. That’s the last day I can say that, isn’t it?”

“Come now, father,” Asper chided, “I’ll always be your girl. A piece of paper and a couple rings won’t change that.”

Her father chuckled softly. “It comforts me to hear you say that. Still, things won’t be the same after today. It never is.”

“You always said that change was just a chance for adventure,” she replied, although the declaration didn’t match the weakness in her voice. The day had just begun, and it was already feeling surreal, scripted. It was all too fatally optimistic. “How do you think I’ll do on this one?”

He smoothed back a lock of her hair that had already escaped its clasp. “My dear,” he declared, “you’ll be amazing. I just know it.”

She shifted, uneasy from the praise. “He’s a good man, yes?”

“Of course." Cyrion grinned. "And you’re an even better woman.”

Asper felt herself uncharacteristically flush. She gently pushed him away. “Papae, please. You can’t let his family hear you saying things like that.”

“Oh, let an old man be proud of his daughter.” He ignored her defiance and put his arms around her. She supposed she should start getting used to that; dozens more embraces were in store for her today. Her skin was already crawling at the thought. “I’ve paid the dowry. I can say what I wish. Nelaros certainly won’t mind his wife being talked up.”

Asper gestured towards the door, her impatience evident by the twitching of her feet. She was never one for long displays of affection. Her father, on the other hand, could spend hours lauding her achievements and reminiscing about their past. It was best she cut it short now. “Speaking of, I should probably go ahead and greet him, along with all of the other guests.”

“Already?”

“Father,” she said exasperatedly, “you invited the entire alienage. It’s going to take hours to shake all of those hands. Besides, I have to find Soris. Shianni said he tearing his hair out all morning. If I don’t find him soon, Valora will have a bald groom.”

“Ah, then I suppose I shouldn’t keep you any longer.” He took a step back, holding her wrists in his calloused, loving hands. “I will be here. And…” He smiled shyly. “If you wouldn’t mind humoring your father one last time, I’d like to help you with your final preparations.”

She had been expecting the offer, but it was still touching to hear. Usually the mother helped the bride with her final preparations, but given their circumstances, he was a deserving substitute. He would likely be Soris' choice as well.

Asper nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.” She made a pass for the doorknob, but was deterred once more.

“Oh, and Asper?”

“...Yes?”

“When you meet Nelaros…” He shuffled uncomfortably, as if wishing he didn’t have to say the words out loud, or had at least brought it up before she was halfway out the door. “Perhaps it’s best not to mention your training and knifeplay and whatnot. We don’t want to scare him, make him think he’s marrying some brawler or criminal.”

Asper felt her mood immediately deflate. Her father had never agreed with her combat training, not even while Adaia was teaching her. “I’m bringing my blades and tape with me," she reasoned. "He’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Later,” her father affirmed quickly. “Later, if you can arrange it. It would be better for my heart, and for yours.”

“I… Yes." There was no point in arguing, not when she wouldn’t be seeing him for weeks, perhaps even months. “I won’t mention it.”

“Thank you.” He looked relieved. “Now off you go. I know you have your celebration to attend to. Just remember that they’re here for you, and not the other way around.”

“Yes, Papae.” She succeeded in opening the door. “I will see you before the ceremony.”

“And Asper?”

Maker above, did this man have any conception of a subtle goodbye?

“Yes?”

He smiled. “I love you, darling girl.”

Asper felt a blossom of tenderness in her chest. She took a step out, speaking back over her shoulder. “I love you too, Papae.”

The alienage was alive with festivities. Long tables stood near the platform, overflowing with barrels and bottles of fine drink. Great platters of food were set in between, piled high with fruit, fish, bread, and cheeses. It seemed that someone had even been able to scrounge up a roast pig. It was a skinny thing, obviously the cheapest pick of the shop, but the spit didn’t discriminate. 

Gifts were propped up near the base of the vhenadahl, the tree of their people that grew proudly in the center of the plaza. Most of the gifts were unwrapped, paper and vellum too valuable to waste on appearances, but each had tags to indicate who they were from. Some had even hung charms from the lowest of the tree’s branches, talismans of good luck, fortune, and fertility. Her herbs would disagree with the last one, but still, it was a kind thought.

Once she was recognized, Asper was flooded with congratulations and well wishes. Her yearly quota for physical affection was filled within minutes, each guest shaking her hand, patting her shoulder, hugging her close. Elves that she hadn’t spoken to in years treated her as if they had just rendezvoused the day before, acting as if they were the closest of friends. Every married woman had a word of advice, while every married man stood behind them blushing, knowing that the guidance came from personal experience. There was dancing and drinking, feasting and frolicking. The sense of community was overwhelming. Humans may have their towering steeples and their silken gowns, but this ability to share joy with each other was what made her truly love her people.

She never expected for her wedding to be so grand. Her father was a well-respected man, and a trusted advisor to elder Valendrian, but that didn’t explain the overabundance of presents and attending guests. Weddings were always a public affair, but there was a brightness to this one, a raw feeling of delight, that she had never noticed before. Perhaps it was because this one was her own. Perhaps it was because her father could afford the extra amenities. Or, perhaps, because they were celebrating not only her own marriage, but Soris’ as well. He was quite beloved, after all. Yes, that must be it.

Asper meandered through the celebrating crowd, greeting people as she went. 

Dilwyn and Gethon teared up before she could say a word. Despite her best efforts of retaliation, they pressed a pouch of coins into her palms, much too many to be technically appropriate. Dilwyn thanked her for her service in the store, and said that she would send a recommendation to a friend in Highever if she was in need of a job. Besides Shianni and her father, hers was the first embrace that Asper welcomed.

Alarith pretended not to care. He might have succeeded too, if only Asper hadn’t begun describing the old escapades of their youth. Eventually, his sturdy veneer broke down into warm affection. He gave her a few tips about the guards up north, but denied her any extortable information. She joked that he had missed his chance in marrying her, but the lost opportunity didn’t seem to upset him. In fact, he seemed much more interested in the figure of her husband-to-be, who had purchased parchment from him earlier that morning. Apparently, he was the quiet the statue.

She was even able to speak with Nessa, one of Shianni’s acquaintances growing up. Her family had planned on leaving for Ostagar today, but she was able to convince them to wait until the wedding was over. Nessa tried to be cheerful to Asper, but the poor girl was clearly terrified of the move. She couldn’t blame her; Ostagar was a soldier encampment on the border of the Korcari Wilds. If the beasts among the trees didn’t get her, the ones in the tents inevitably would. Still, she was glad that the wedding had postponed their travels, even for a day.

It took over an hour before she was able to find Soris. She thought that she would find him socializing with his adoring guests, but it seemed that not even Taeodor, his closest friend and arguably his most adoring guest of all, knew of his whereabouts. If she hadn’t heard the shrill laughter and giggling from a nearby alleyway, she may have not found him at all.

From Soris’ arms hung two children, swinging on his limbs as if they were ropes on a tree. He was laughing with them and hadn’t noticed Asper yet. He spun in place, twirling on a pivot, and it wasn’t until the kids shrieked and cried out that they were becoming dizzy that he stopped. A few feet behind the children, she stood.

“Oh, Asper!” Soris panted, apparently too winded to be surprised. The kids turned when he called out to her. “You’re looking... awfully different.”

“A good different, I hope.” Asper picked at a thread on her sleeve, already feeling self-conscious in the frock. She was used to wearing feminine clothing for the Pearl, but those were garish and skintight. This fabric was flowing, soft, almost girlish. “What about you? Dare I say it, but is that tailored?”

He flattened the fabric of his shirt against his abdomen. “Of course,” he answered self-consciously. “Why? Does it look alright? It doesn’t look cheap, does it?”

The little girl tugged at his pants pocket. “I think that you look very handsome, Ser Soris,” she piped. The voice was familiar.

“Who cares how he looks?” her brother scoffed. Yes, she definitely knew them. Suddenly, the boy was standing in front of her, pointing at her as if his finger was an arrow. “She’s the one that matters. I bet you could hide a bunch of stuff under that dress, huh?”

At first, Asper was unsure whether the child was giving her a poor attempt at flirting, but then she remembered how she knew them. The night that she received the letter. Almost being caught by the drunk man. The little beggars. These two children were one and the same. It made sense that she hadn’t been able to easily recognize them; they looked drastically different than when she had seen them last. The boy held himself higher, the girl smiled brighter, and it seemed that the hollows beneath their cheekbones had been filled. While she didn’t deem herself a humanitarian, it made her happy to see the improvements.

“Oh, yes,” Asper humored. “Why do you think so many rogues wear skirts? I could fit an entire lockpicking kit under this. Maybe even a shortsword, in a pinch.”

The children gazed up at her with wide eyes, clearly impressed. Soris just seemed confused. 

“You actually know these two? They said that they knew you, but I thought they were just fibbing to get a spot close to the meat.” The two kids converted their efforts to glaring at her cousin. Soris raised his palms placatingly. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I still would have let you eat!”

“I know them,” she affirmed. “They tried to pickpocket me on the streets. Unsuccessfully, of course.”

Soris looked horrified, but the siblings only grinned sheepishly.

“You want to eat now?” Asper asked the two. They nodded. 

While weddings were public affairs, elders and adults were usually allowed to feast before the children, forcing the juveniles to fight over the scraps. Only children that were relatives to the couple were allowed to dine early, as they would oftentimes be a part of the ceremony and would leave the feast to prepare. Of course, relationships were awfully hard to keep track of in an alienage this big. Maybe it was a state of pre-wedding generosity, but she couldn’t help but want to spoil these two. She identified with them far too much.

Asper made a humming noise. “Maker knows we lied our way to the dining tables at your age. Why not? I’ll let you into the front of the line.” Their grins swelled. “But first tell me, how are both of you? You didn’t waste the coin in the candyshop, did you?”

“No ser!” the girl promised. “We brought it all home to Mamae!”

“We finally had enough for the apothecary!” the brother added. “She got better real fast!”

The words made her heart ache. Their mother had been sick? Was that why they had been begging? 

“I’m glad that she’s better,” she said honestly. “That’s very good to hear. You made the right choice.” The boy blushed. “But if your mamae or either of you get sick again, tell her to go to Dilwyn, alright?” Her former boss would never turn down someone in need, especially a single mother. How was someone supposed to pay for medicine when they were the only working hands in the house?

“Yes ser!” The brother bowed his head dutifully.

“Can we eat now?” the girl inquired, a little too much whine in her voice to be polite. The boy hushed his sister, but he was obviously thinking the same thing. With the enticing scents currently wafting out of the plaza, she couldn’t fault them for having a one-track mind.

“Yes, yes. Go on, you two. Tell them that Asper sent you, and if they still don’t let you...” Asper held up a fist. “Tell them that I’ll give them something else to chew on.”

The children laughed gleefully, but Soris shook his head. Apparently, teaching children to use threats of violence was frowned upon. Traditionalist. Holding hands, the kids fled into the crowd, unceremoniously pushing their way to the dining table. Someone would disapprove, but that was part of the reason that she did it. It was her wedding. She could do what she wanted.

She and Soris neared each other to speak, but before either could say anything, they were interrupted by a strained, feminine voice.

“You know, if you feed strays, they’ll never leave you alone.”

The cousins turned to see Elva, an elvhen woman that too closely resembled a vulture without its feathers. Although she wasn’t much older than Asper, her pessimism seemed to have aged her prematurely. Most distinct were the lines around her mouth, which complimented her perpetual frown. While Asper tried not to judge by appearances, in this case, the cover fit the contents. Elva was a town menace.

“Didn’t you hear?” Asper called back. She had no patience for this woman today. She was like a banshee. Any interaction with her would surely spell out some sort of doom, even if it was only the sharing of a conversation. “They have a mother. Besides, I rather like alleycats.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Elva jeered. “They came back to you rather often, didn’t they? But I suppose that’s expected. They knew they could get an easy meal.”

Asper felt herself tense. Despite Elva’s lack of skill in metaphor, she think she understood what the woman was insinuating. It seemed that she had decided to step over the line from nuisance to threat. “What can I say? I’m generous.”

“Is that what we’re calling them these days?” Elva smirked. She was expecting to have Asper squirming, as if she was the first person to try to intimidate her with her work history.

“No,” she shot back. “These days, we’re calling them brides. It’s my wedding day, or hadn’t you heard?”

Miraculously, Elva’s grimace was able to stretch even further down her face. At this rate, it would snap clean off. “Don’t act all high and mighty." She tossed her hair, long and frazzled, over her shoulder. "The only reason anyone is willing to marry you is because of your father’s money.”

And the only way to deal with these kind of people was to corner them in their own hysterics.

“A little bitter, are we?”

“I have every right to be!” she trilled. Soris looked between the two of them helplessly. “You’re just a criminal, a wench, yet you get some wealthy smith while I’m stuck with a fat, old drunk who wouldn’t give me the time of day if my life depended on it!”

Fuck marriage etiquette. If she kept on like this, there may be blood on her gown soon.

“Tell me,” Asper simpered, “did he begin drinking before or _after _you were married?”

Elva made a noise of disbelief, something between a squawk and gasp. Her fury was gaining by the second. “You can’t speak to me like that!” Then her voice lowered, and she jabbed a finger at Asper’s face. “I could still end it all, you know. A word here and there. It would be easy. Just like _Haras_.”

Haras.

Asper had tried to find the weasel that ruined her first engagement, but with no leads, the trail quickly came to a dead end. After awhile, it had completely left her mind. While most of the alienage adhered to a sort of societal rule, she knew that a number of people disliked her. She didn’t have the time to sniff out every single person that had the contempt or apathy to want to ruin her life, and after being engaged to her current fiance, she no longer cared. Yet knowing that it was Elva that snitched made perfect sense. Perfect, infuriating sense.

Before she could stop her body, Asper grabbed ahold of the finger that Elva had been wagging at her. She curled the finger into her fist and jerked the woman’s arm down to her side. If Elva tried to fight against her, she would only bruise herself.

“Now listen here,” Asper whispered furiously, close enough so that only the women could hear. “You will not be having any words. You will not be saying anything to anyone. I do not have the energy to deal with nosy little busy-bodies. Today I am getting married, and I will not have anything getting in the way of that. Do you understand? Tell me you understand.” 

Elva opened her mouth wide as if she was going to do anything but. 

Asper tightened her grip, causing the woman to flinch. “You called me a criminal, yes? You knew my mother. You think that just because I’m moving to Highever means you’ll face no repercussions? That you’ll be safe?” Although she was trying to move away from bodily threats, she didn’t have the time or mind to deal with this peacefully. Elva closed her mouth, her teeth making a clicking sound when they contacted. It seemed that even in a dress she could be intimidating. “Threatening this marriage means threatening my family, and I will never allow anyone to threaten my family. So I will ask you again.” Her voice dropped to a bare hiss. “Do you understand?”

Although she seemed to have half a mind to disagree, Elva nodded.

Asper slowly backed away from her. “No one would believe you anyway,” she added. There was a venom in her voice, the kind that she had normally reserved for agitators at the Pearl. “You’ve been spreading rumors since grade school. Your word is as good as dirt.” To emphasize the point, she spat on the ground near Elva’s feet. Giving the woman a final scowl, she turned and strode out of the alleyway. She didn’t slow until she was back in the plaza, not even to wait for Soris to catch up.

“What was that all about?” Soris asked, taking long steps to match her short, quick ones. 

“You know me,” Asper answered vaguely. “I’ve caused quite a few grudges. I’m surprised half of the alienage isn’t touting torches and pitchforks today.”

Soris took the explanation easily, knowing not to pry. “Surely not that many. I mean, look,” he said, sweeping his hand over the crowd of guests. “All these people are here for you.”

“And you.”

“For _us_,” Soris confirmed. “Besides, there’s always the cranky uncle or the naysaying neighbor. Someone always has to knock over the wine barrels, or tell humiliating stories, or set the altar alight. It just makes it a proper wedding.”

Although she was still brewing over the previous conversation, she had to give credit to her cousin. He was doing his best at lightening the mood, even when he had no idea what had darkened it in the first place. “You’re right, of course. A guest that loathes me is something that I can handle.” Walking past a table, she let her hand run over one of the bouquets. “As long as they didn’t switch the dahlias for daisies, yes? In the end, that’s what really matters.”

As she spoke, she plucked one of the condemned daisies from the vase and offered it to Soris. When he only rolled his eyes, she darted forward and slipped the bud inside his coat pocket. She had wanted to put it behind his ear, but unless he bent down, there was no way that she would be able to reach that height covertly.

Before she could tell him how good he looked in white, a voice called out to him. Soris’ back immediately straightened, and a mixture of fear and excitement flashed across his face. A mousy little woman beckoned the two of them towards a passage parallel to the plaza. At her side was a man that she didn’t recognize.

“Valora!” Soris cried out breathlessly. His obvious anxiety made the last syllable shoot up half an octave, nearly causing him to squeak. He trotted up to her, as willing as a pup. After looking her up and down, he cleared his throat. “You look... very nice.”

His fiance seemed disappointed by the lackluster compliment. It was clear that she had spent hours on her hair and composition. Sweeping beside her, Asper attempted to allay the blunder. “Don’t mind him. When he first saw me, he only told me that I looked different. Not even in a good way. This is a vast improvement.”

“Then I suppose it’s my duty to call you beautiful,” said the man. At first, Asper thought that he was speaking to Valora. Perhaps he was a friend or sibling, and wanted to rectify her wounded confidence. Yet his eyes were on her when he spoke. She swiveled towards him, and he took a step forward. “Although now that I’ve seen you,” he continued, “it’s a duty that I am happy to have.”

Asper stared at the man. He was a tall fellow, but not mountainous. Well-built, but not stout. He was blonde, too. She hadn’t expected that. The most striking thing about him, however, was his gaze. There was a softness to it that came rare in the alienage, a sort of honest shine. He looked kind.

Her breath tried to catch in her throat, but she pushed it down. “Unless you’re some cad that has decided to flirt with one of the brides,” she began wavily, “I’d assume that you are Nelaros.”

He chuckled. Maker, even his laughter was soft. It was like listening to the wings of a bird. She caught Soris staring too. “Yes, I am Nelaros. And unless there’s some third bride I haven’t been told about, I’d assume that you are Asper?”

“I certainly hope so,” she declared. Her mouth was making noises before her head could decide whether or not it was a good idea. “Otherwise, I’d have dressed up for nothing.”

Valora and Soris had already pulled away to their own secluded corner, speaking to each other far more casually than she and Nelaros. After all, they had known each other for years. While the marriage was a new development, Valora was from the Denerim alienage just as they were. There was already a pathway paved for their interactions. Asper envied her younger cousin. She had no notion of what to say in this sort of situation. She didn’t know what to do with her hands.

Fortunately, Nelaros had some idea. He offered his palms to her, and she tentatively accepted them. It was bizarre to hold the hands of someone she had just met, yet it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. It still made the back of her neck prickle, but it wasn't comparable to the needles she got when she was on duty.

“You know, your father told me what you looked like, but I don’t think I ever could have expected you.” He looked to the side for a moment, blushing like a lad at his first spring dance. Alarith hadn’t been lying. The man was like a marble statue—his jaw could cut leather. “I hope I live up to your expectations.”

Asper nearly snorted, but was able to convert it into a muffled laugh. “Live up to them? Ser, everyone here has been telling me how pretty and charming you are all morning. At this point, I’m not even sure Andraste herself could live up to the anticipation.” Fuck, was he okay with religious jokes? She tried to allay it with a smile. “You’re close, though.”

His blush deepened. Damnit. Fuck. “Pretty? Is that really the word they used?”

“One of them I’m willing to tell you, at least. Some of my friends had other words, but those are a little too graphic to say in public.”

The flush had spread to the tips of his ears, and Asper had the sudden urge to see how far she could make it go. It would be an experiment for another day. “At least I seem to come highly recommended. There could be worse descriptions.” Nelaros glanced down at their joined hands. He chuckled again, but it was more to himself than to anyone around him. “You know, I knew that I was getting married today. I knew I would be meeting my wife. Yet talking right now, on the day of, it still seems-”

“Surreal?” Asper finished.

“Exactly. Although I am certain that it’s a good kind.” Then, with a gentle motion, Nelaros brought Asper’s hand to his mouth. He delicately kissed the outside of her wrist, barely making contact. She knew that the gesture was supposed to be romantic, but after working in the Pearl, it only made her insides writhe. She would have to learn.

While she could have spent many minutes more contemplating the seraph that was her fiance, a sharp screech sounded from the other end of the lane. Gaining the attention of all four of them, an elvhen woman desperately begged for help. Behind her were three human men, each bedecked in gaudy noble attire—their bright clothing and mammoth stature made them look like they had come from another world. Humans were not supposed to be here, especially not wealthy ones. One of them held the woman’s wrists behind her back, and bent down to say something obviously atrocious in her ear. From the corner hid none other than Shianni, seemingly paralyzed.

If the plea hadn’t been enough to garner Asper’s interjection, Shianni’s involvement certainly was. It seemed that threats from spiteful neighbors wouldn’t be the only hitch today.

She was the first to near them, the other three following closely behind. Nelaros put a protective arm in front of her, but she patted it away. “Sers, may I ask what you’re doing?” She knew the kind of trouble rich boys could cause. This was no place for wit.

The directness and clarity of her words seemed to astonish the men. The grip on the woman loosened, and her momentum brought herself to the ground. The sound of her knees hitting the cobblestone was not a pretty one. She tried to stumble her way to the other elves, but was caught by the collar of her blouse. The human went on to acquaint himself with other areas of the blouse, particularly the front. Asper fought the urge to cut off the man's hand.

“It is a party, is it not?” The noble that spoke carried himself taller than the others, and his coat had golden embellishments that made him stand out in the noon sun. He was the leader of this little pack, no doubt. These kind of people would keel over if they didn’t impose a hierarchy in every aspect of their lives. “We thought we would join in on the fun. A double wedding doesn’t happen every day, you know.”

Asper gestured to herself and her procession. “I believe that we understand that better than most, being the sources.”

He squinted at her. She could feel his gaze run over every crevice of her body, and she regretted wearing such a thin dress. “Ah, so you are the two couples to be? Congratulations!” he shouted, spreading his arms wide. The exaggeration of the movement and the lack of volume control made his intoxication evident. Her fear increased. “Please, do not mind us! We only want to celebrate in our own way. Go off and discuss your future litters, or whatever it is that you do.”

One of his companions made a grab for the woman. “We just need this lovely lady to finish her tour of the place.” He yanked her to her feet and held her against his chest. “Isn’t that right, lovely lady?”

Asper felt a familiar feeling of protectiveness sweep over her. A tremor of violence began to build beneath her lungs. “I see. Is there any way she could do it after the ceremony? It’ll be starting soon.”

“It won’t take long,” assured the leader. She didn’t like the sound of that promise. Then he smiled at her, all crooked implications and devilish white teeth. “Unless, of course, one of the beautiful brides would be willing to show us around instead? A trade, if you will.”

Her anger swelled. Although she valued the tradition less than other women, it was still her wedding day. She shouldn’t be having to deal with propositions from entitled human men—she had already spent too many of her nights doing just that. It was times like these that she wished she was as clever as her mother. Adaia would have been able to talk her way out of this, could have blackmailed them into leaving the girl. But Asper? She wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to escalate the situation, but she couldn’t in her right mind let the men leave with her guest.

When she didn’t answer him, he sneered and grabbed ahold of the woman’s other arm. “So be it. We’ll be on our way, then.” 

As he began to turn, sunlight glinted off of a round object, and then glass was flying like sparks from a flintstone. The nobleman fell to the dusty ground, blood seeping out of the back of his head and a corner of an eye. Behind him stood a proud Shianni, who held the neck of a broken bottle. There was a fire in her eyes, wrathful and unapologetic. It was like looking in a mirror.

“It’s a wedding,” she spat viciously. “The least you could do is behave yourselves. I won’t let you hurt anyone here. Not today of all days.”

Asper’s feet carried her to her cousin before she realized that she had moved. She peeled Shianni away from the two men that were still standing, who had immediately gone to aid their fallen comrade. One of them began to shout a slew of curses. “Do you know what you just did, you knife eared bitch?” he sputtered. “Do you not know who this is? This here is Vaughan, Arl Urien’s son! He’ll have you skinned for this!”

It was fortunate that Asper had been already been holding onto Shianni, because the words made her cousin buckle. She muttered a prayer under her breath. Of all the people to bottle, the son of Denerim’s arl had to be the worst choice. It was just below striking King Cailan himself.

Soris clutched his hands together. He seemed near tears. “Please,” he implored, “please, we do not want to cause any more trouble. We didn’t mean to cause any harm. I deeply apologize for the actions of my cousin. She was just drunk. We will have her taken care of immediately.”

The man screwed up his face and continued his rendition of Ferelden’s most derogatory insults. Asper reached for the band above her knee, where she had sheathed a short blade. While she had exaggerated to the beggar boy earlier, what she said was not entirely untrue. It was easier to hide a weapon under a skirt. She would be hanged for cutting a lord, but if it came between her and her cousins, she would be prepared to make that sacrifice. So much for a peaceful wedding day.

“As he said, we do not want any more trouble.” Her fingers found the handle. “Take him and leave this place. Our guest is safe, and your man should be healed quickly if he doesn’t want scarring. This does not have to go any further. If you speak this to no one, neither shall we.”

Then something behind her made the nobleman pause. A shadow overcame her figure, and she looked past her shoulder to see a flash of metallic armor. Not a knight or guard’s polished silver, but a dark, battered gray, tinted with age and blood. As if three humans weren’t enough, the Maker decided to throw another one into the fray. The least the man could do was say something. Yet there he stood, watching wordlessly over her head. With the length of his scabbard, she feared for her life.

The two lords hoisted the barely conscious Vaughan from the stonework. Made nervous by the appearance of the warrior, or mercenary, or whatever he was, they began to drag themselves towards the gate of the alienage. They had little other choice, lest their accomplice bled out. Although they threatened mortal injury to every person there, the trio ultimately scurried out of sight.

Each of them shared a collective breath of relief, and Shianni fled to help her victimized friend. Nelaros looked shaken, but less than she thought that he would be. It seemed that it wasn’t the first time he had been put in such a position. There were some constants no matter where an elf lived. He tried to put himself in the space between her and the stranger, but again, she patted him away.

“Ser,” Asper tested hesitantly. Now that she could see the man more clearly, she was even more impressed, and likewise, more terrified. He was a dark man with an even darker beard, and although he tied his hair back in a warrior’s knot, he was unlike any warrior she had ever seen. His scars insinuated an experience of battle, but he did not carry himself like other veterans she knew. He did not seem broken. Raw strength pared off of him in waves, as if produced through his very breath. His greatsword hung from his belt for all to see, and a carved griffon was emblazoned proudly across his chestplate. Yet, as if to juxtapose it all, a single delicate earring hung from one of his ears, catching the light when he turned his head. He definitely came from outside the city.

“Miss,” he responded shortly.

“I apologize for the commotion, but can I help you? Do you have a place to be?” There was no good reason for such a man to be in the alienage. With the appearance of the arl’s son, her nerves had been fried. Too many humans. “I can’t help much, but I can at least give directions.”

Straight out of here, that is.

“I am right where I am supposed to be.” He gave her a knowing look that she didn’t understand. “It is a kind offer, however.”

“Then at least allow me to thank you,” she said, beginning to become exasperated. “Your presence seemed to have helped us.”

“I did nothing. I was not involved. I cannot be.”

“Perhaps not directly,” she countered, “but nonetheless, you helped us regain the peace.” She only prayed that he wasn’t here to disrupt it again. If she portrayed him as a sort of hero, he might not even call the guards.

“You should not thank a stranger when the outcome was of your own doing,” he chided lightly. The tone surprised her. It was like a mentor speaking to a student, not a swordsman to an elf. “I saw you still your blade, but a blade you still had. I doubt anyone else here was armed. You would have been taking both of them by yourself, but you had no doubt, did you?”

“Asper has never been the kind for doubt. Not when it comes to protecting family, at least.” Valendrian, the alienage’s elder, approached the two of them. It seemed everyone was coming across their little party in the alleyway today. He clapped a hand against the warrior’s back, who only smiled heartily in response. “I see you have already met Duncan. He may look intimidating, but I promise you, he’s as dangerous as a mouse. To you, anyway.”

Asper gave a short bow, immediately flustering at the sight of the elder. “I’m sorry, hahren, I had no idea that he was a guest.”

Duncan chuckled. The break from his cold veneer somehow made him more unnerving. “You would have no reason to think so. I have placed myself in your home, an armored human man. I would be blind to not realize that I don’t quite fit in.”

How... surprisingly self-aware.

“You won’t have to stay here much longer,” promised Valendrian. “Here she is, just as I said. Bride and all.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “Hahren, what do you mean?”

Duncan and Valendrian looked at her squarely.

“Why, I came here for you.”

The elder quickly interjected himself. “He is a Grey Warden,” he explained. “A fighter against the Blight. He came to Denerim to recruit, and knowing that you were yet unmarried, had wanted to persuade you to join his cause. Of course, you are about to be bonded with this good man,” he said as he held a hand out towards Nelaros. Like Asper, he didn’t seem to know how to react. “I told him that it would be a wasted trip, but he insisted on meeting you himself.”

Hyperaware of her fiance’s presence beside her, she did her best to look appalled. “Why me? I am hardly anyone significant.”

“Perhaps not all under your own name.” There was a mischievous glint in Duncan’s eyes. “Even so, I am sure that you’d have the potential. Adaia did, and you are her very image. The resemblance is uncanny.”

She felt her heart lurch forward. Unconsciously, her hand went to curl around Nelaros’ arm, which he quietly grinned at. Her interest in what this Duncan had to say had just increased by tenfold. “You knew my mother?”

Knowing that the conversation had veered into dangerous waters, Valendrian hastily stopped Duncan from elaborating further. “Come, there will be a feast later. You can catch up then. Right now, there seems to be a wedding that must be attended to. It is nearly time for the ceremony, and I believe that you all,” he said as he eyed the four of them, “must finish getting ready. Unless you wish to be married in only your dress shirts and slips?”

Valora squeaked in surprise, as if she had just realized the time. Kissing Soris’ cheek, she excused herself and Nelaros. His family was staying with hers while they were visiting Denerim, so he would finish his final preparations there. 

Asper had hoped to speak to him more before the rites, and by the yearning look on his face, so had he. She only hoped that he wasn’t troubled. Her father told her to hide her violent streak, but it seemed Duncan and the elder hadn’t received the memo. She would be going into this marriage with more honesty than she had expected. She didn't know whether to feel concerned or relieved.

Once Shianni was reassured that her friend was all right, she and her cousins worked their way back to their own house. Asper greeted dozens of guests along the way, but none of them were able to stick in her mind. Too many things had already happened today, and she didn’t even have the ring yet. She awoke that morning feeling apprehensive about the marriage, but at this point, a wedding would be a welcome reprieve. She was nearly forced to duel two noblemen. Compared to that, standing at the altar should be child’s play.

Shianni tried to apologize for her hazardous reaction, but Asper waved it off. Given the same opportunity, she couldn’t see herself making a different choice. Besides, Vaughan had never been able to see Shianni’s face, so she was safer from him than the rest of them. It was Soris and Valora that she had to worry about. They would have to stay off the streets for a week or two, although observing the common pattern of newlyweds, that wouldn’t be too difficult. They’d likely be staying inside either way. The poor neighbors.

By the time they were home, they had agreed to not tell Cyrion about the commotion. The wedding was about to begin, and there was no need to cause him distress. He took Soris upstairs first, as the grooms had to be at the altar before the brides. As the other two waited, Shianni helped Asper fix any loose hairs or smudged lines. They talked a little, but everything that had to be said between them had been dealt with that morning. Shianni soon left to join the other guests, but not without leaving a lipstick stain on Asper’s shoulder after hugging her too tightly. Fortunately, that part would be hidden under the dress.

Before she knew it, Soris was walking down the stairs. She knew that he would wear a suit and vest, but she was still taken aback. He was so tall, so… adult. It seemed only a year ago they had been collecting pebbles from the river.

“Cyrion is ready for you,” her cousin stated. He tried to steady his voice, but Maker, the boy was nervous.

“Yes, but are _you_ ready for this?”

Soris smiled weakly. “I think so. I think I have to be.” He rubbed his arm, looking flustered. “Besides, I think I really like this girl. This woman, I mean," he hastily corrected. "Maybe it’s crazy, but it seems like it’ll be so easy.”

“Easy?”

“To love her,” he answered openly.

Soris and her father were more alike than either knew. Both had inherited tenderness, as well as the ability to love unconditionally. She would probably never tell him, but she envied him for that.

“You know,” she sighed, “I was planning on having to comfort you today. You’ve been anxious all week. I thought I’d be the shoulder to lean on, yet here I am, barely able to walk myself.”

“Do you not like Nelaros?” Soris asked confusedly, as if the concept was unimaginable.

“No, no, I do. I think so, anyway. It’s the doubt that worries me. I mean, you know me.” She scrubbed her fingers through her hair, loosing the strands that Shianni had just corrected. “I need it to be a certainty. It’s such a gamble. You’re the one good at gambling, not me.”

Soris laughed. “Please, do not tell Valora that. She already thinks our family are a bunch of troublemakers.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“Still,” he insisted. “If you ask me, I think that the doubt is a piece of it. You aren’t confident in him right now, but that’s a part of getting to know him. You can’t be close without first being vulnerable.”

Asper looked at him in shock. “Soris, that almost sounded wise. Is this what marriage is doing to you?”

“I can hope.”

Soris nudged her gently with his shoulder. She considered making another jest, but it didn’t seem the time for that. She decided to accept his offer. She leaned against him, carefully tipping her head against his arm. She wasn’t willing to put any weight on him, but the small point of contact was almost nice.

She pulled away from her cousin, but kept his gaze. Right now, she felt off. She wobbled between despair and joy, which was surprising, since her primary emotion seemed to be rage. If only she could be angry at Soris for being right.

“Tell me, when had you gone and grown up?”

He adjusted his coat, grinning softly. “When you were looking away.”

The wobbling continued. By the look of it, she didn’t seem to be the only one.

“Well,” she said finally, “we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer. You need to take your place, and I still have my dress to put on.”

“Right,” he agreed. He gave her an awkward pat, as he always did, and braced himself at the door. “I’ll see you soon, then. Good luck, cousin.”

“You too.”

When she had told Soris that she barely felt qualified to walk, she hadn’t been joking. She had to rely on her motor skills to move, as her mind was far too preoccupied with the situation outside. It was funny. She could put her fist through someone’s face, apply bandaging to a bladewound, service countless strangers at the Pearl, yet this was what seemed to shake her the most. The other things were stepping stones. This was one of the destinations.

Arriving upstairs, her father already had her dress waiting. He helped her into it as if she and it were made of paper. The gown was Adaia’s, imitating the slip with its long sleeves and flowing skirt, but far more elaborate. Asper knew that she and her mother were similar, but she hadn’t expected the article to suit her so perfectly. It wasn’t the build; it was a little loose around the collar, a little tight around the arms. As long is covered the mark on her back, she didn’t care how it fit. No, it was the style of it that was remarkable, its silhouette and shape. It looked like Adaia. She couldn’t recognize herself in the mirror, but it almost looked like someone she could be someday.

Cyrion crowned her with her wreath and stepped back. Tears were beading at his eyes. “She would be proud, you know.”

Asper nodded. “I know.”

Other words were shared, but none more important than that. She took a minute to click each of her earrings into place, knowing that she wanted them with her on this day. They deserved to attend the wedding like everyone else. Then she was walking down the stairs, walking out the door, and finally, walking to the altar.

Everyone was there. Everyone she had ever known was waiting in that plaza, watching her take her place beside Nelaros. Friends. Family. Enemies. Lovers. Each of them had put aside their differences to take part in this joining of lives. Mother Boann was there too, looking at the two couples endearingly. Weddings were always her favorite kind of service.

The rites began. 

Time seemed to speed up exponentially, as if a ball gaining momentum as it rolled down a hill. She couldn't even remember where she was supposed to stand. Although she was not supposed to say anything until the final vows, she began to have an itch to speak. She did not know what she wanted to say, just that something should be said. The scratching worsened, claws digging into the back of her neck. 

Soris and Valora spoke their vows. It was like mud to her ears. The crowd cheered, but the Mother had already moved onto the next pair.

Asper peered at Nelaros, and reality sunk in further than her proverbial claws. He was handsome. He was sweet. He was good. She had someone been bestowed a partner with all the right things, yet at that moment, each perfection seemed like a knife at her side. She stood there expressionless, but a wildfire began to spread inside of her. It had just been morning. She should have hours before the wedding, days, years. It didn’t make sense. She had hoped for a husband, but the act of it was making her feel sick. The dress clung to her like a silken cage, the sun was suddenly too hot on her head and too cold everywhere else. She wanted to yell something, wanted to throw something off of the stage, anything to feel real, to feel like she had a choice. It felt irrevocably, undeniably _wrong_.

Mother Boann asked Nelaros for his vow. There was a bright shimmering about him, captivating everyone present. Everyone but her. "I'll spend every waking moment learning to make you happy," he promised. The words shamed her. She mentally fumbled for her own vows, desperately trying to break free from the haze of hysteria. 

Just as her own rites began to be read, a scream spanned through the crowd.

That really shouldn’t have made her feel relieved. 

The feeling didn’t last long. A woman was being pulled up to the stage, assaulted by none other than lord Vaughan. The only evidence of Shianni’s blow was a gauze over his eye, plastered to his head by bandages. His two lackeys followed shortly after. All three men pushed between the two couples.

“Go on, boys,” Vaughan shouted, speaking to the mass as much as he was to them. “Grab a whore, any one of them up there! If they’re going to fight like dogs, they’ll be treated like them!”

Mother Boann claimed blasphemy, but the noblemen didn’t listen. The people below the stage cried out in protest, but that only seemed to make one of them hold a bridesmaid even tighter. In an instant, chaos had taken over the ceremony. The cacophony inside of Asper had been reflected into the outside world.

Vaughan searched the crowd. “Where’s the bitch that bottled me?” No. No, not...

Shianni was carried to the stage by one arm. She was thrown at the man’s feet, bruises already forming on her shins. Vaughan lifted her cousin up by the neck and snarled in her face.

In that moment, Asper loathed everyone there. They yelled and cursed, but none of them actually did anything. They all just stood there, hating what they saw but not wanting to be next. Her roaring hearth was seeping from her fingertips. There was only one right decision. She sped at Vaughan, her blade angled below his ribs.

She felt a sharp pain at the back of her head, a flooding warmth, and then black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! In my defense, this chapter is over twice as long as a normal one. I'm absolutely not writing the entire game scene by scene like this, but as it's important to the exposition... Well, it's written!


End file.
